Dear Vice, I am in love with you
I don't know what it is. And I’ve been trying to come to terms with an unlikely infatuation that came to be during that London Fields house party last weekend. Is it the cascading mass of curls that falls from below the backwards New Era cap you favor so highly? The twinkle you get in those dark pools of eyes when making an unsavoury joke? The pencil thin ginger moustache? The uniform of Slayer T-shirt and oversized studded leather jacket? The bizarre, unplaceable accent that makes you sound like an Irish-American pig farmer? The way you told me you were "Sober, except for K?"
I was walking to the dentist today to get my teeth done at (they are very mossy right now), and I realised I would never try to get you to get your teeth cleaned, because they are perfect to me. And when I was brushing my hair, I was imagining running my fingers through those Edwardian ringlets that gleam in the spring sunlight. And now, whenever I hear black metal, I think of you, moshing, head thrown back like some magnificent lion, a lion with curls and a really thin, perfectly groomed moustache.
Do you remember when we sat on the beanbag and talked about the Other Dimension whilst staring at the sky? I felt like I had left the party and soared across the skies to a magic wonderland where we lived together in perfect harmony and I spent my nights with my fingers entwined in your glorious ringlets. I don't know if it was all the K you were obviously on talking, or real talk when you told me that I was your mystical shaman spirit twin- but I felt it too.
Have you ever seen the film Never Been Kissed starring Drew Barrymore and the seminal acting talent that is David Arquette? In said movie Drew wins the heart of her love interest by writing an article which is then published in a newspaper, asking him to come forward and kiss her. Will you come and kiss me, Mr. Rockwell?
If so, meet me at The Trocadero, at the dance machine ride (I have an unbeatable top score) at seven pm on Thursday the 9th of April.
You rock my world, Rocky.
Love Peaches Geldof