All of these Blur memories and every one of these glorious 60 degrees here got us reminiscing over warm days in Camden, just after we met, when hordes of us used to stand outside The Good Mixer with pints of Kronenberg affixed to our hands.
“Can I put this old picture of you on the internet?”
“Oh my god, I remember that day.”
It was my goodbye drinks, the first time I left.
“There’s Tony’s van, and the fruit & veg place that’s no longer there. And those big pints.”
We talk about other nights in the Mixer: the night the red-faced man took over the snooker table and no one could beat him. “Who was it who beat him in the end? Dave?”
“Of course! Beans On Toast Biffo.”
I know that if it weren’t for that pub, for lazy days and crazy nights like those, I wouldn’t be where I am now, an older version of me with an older version of that guy in the picture. There’s a reason I get all nostalgic thinking about those early years.
“I like remembering what it was like back when we met not because I wish we were still there, but just because I’m so glad we met.”