Day 6

5.02: Day 6 dawns – or doesn’t dawn yet – after a weekend of nightclubs, football, Shakespeare, roast partridge, bands, drinking, triumph, euphoria, nausea and ruin. It’s a miracle I’m here. Feeling a touch giddy, and hoping this will spur me on to Joycean strains of new wonder.

It’s worth mentioning that Slow Club played a magisterial set at the Luminaire in Kilburn last night. Tap-dancing hobo troubadour Mayor Mcca was quite something too.

5.37: Apparently, the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh have their morning meal delivered to their bed served on a tatty and unmatching tea set before 8am every morning. 8am? Damned lazy royals. Doesn’t look like we’ll be seeing Prince Philip’s bodice-ripping erotic thriller any time soon. The guy’s less productive than Flaubert.

6.50: Tricky morning – partly from sleep deprivation; partly because I’m getting into the story’s more treacherous waters: the old romantic sub plot rearing its beguiling illusory head. Storytellers from Racine to Richard Curtis have taken it easily in their stride, but for me it’s like trying to teach a bucking bronco to play Für Elise.

~ by David Thorley on October 26, 2009.

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