See that person floating? That’s not Rick Senley. Sorry. Rick Senley did go floating though, in a floatation tank, to try and calm the anger within.
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“What if there had only been three guests, or 72? Would she have broken down in tears, reached for the nearest implement with which to belabour her around the chops? Taken an axe, taken an overdose, hurled herself in a nearby oven?” |
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“He knows he’ll forget all about the man in the toilet as soon as he’s back with his mates and the bubbly… “ |
Let Rick Senley explain…
A tattooed hooligan slouches in a wheelchair, shirtless, his blue and green arms bright against the doughy paleness of his English skin, Chelsea and England drawings on his chest, his stomach, shoulders.
Menacingly he points a gun at a terrified woman on a bed, her blouse lying on the floor, her blonde hair tousled, her eyes [...]
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“I spent £205 by mistake in Soho where a man with a neck as thick as several draught excluders menaced to kick me in the testicles if I didn’t give him £205, even though the waitress didn’t take her bra off. “ |
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“Why would I want to mope the chewing-gummed streets of a city that I so carefully and lovingly avoid, why would I want to traipse even more slowly behind malingering halfwits and deformed Americans?” |
Rick Senley has an unexpected existential crisis at the return of a mega band…
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“London in the autumn is dreary. London in the winter is dispiriting and London in the spring is pointless. But London in the summer is hell. Pure, unabridged, undiluted, unwashed hell.” |