Walk On By

Two hours of television and my eyes spin round like fruit machines.
I watched Gok – not sure what I feel about him.
I like Joan Rivers joke – a lollipop named after him is a Gok Sucker….
Then I watched Steve Coogan in SUNSHINE. I cried so much it sounded like I had adenoidal trouble.
This evening I walked very fast over Battersea Bridge onto Kings road then turned left towards Worlds End.

I like left away from Sloane Square. It feels real. The people are locals, not blow ins, and the shops are not supermarkets.
The charity shops aint ‘alf bad either. Posh stuff sold cheap.
On the way back I was thinking about walking. It took 394 paces from the Square to my flat. The evening was crisp and the twilight sky was a dusty lemon. There was a young artist painting the same river that Turner had recorded. He was doing a very good job. His easel was slight, his box of paints oblong under the easel and his expression calm and serene, even though Old Father Thames was really choppy.
I wondered whether he knew that Turner had sat and painted from the church 50 paces from where he was standing.l imagined he did, in the event I felt that a lady in a yellow anorak, walking briskly, teaching him to suck eggs was as bad as his granny doing it.
It’s now 22.41. I’m all emoticonned out.
I have to read a book by Thursday and get me beauty sleep as well.
I want to do my running but the agent has sent me a pair of headphones which havn’t arrived. My earholes are just too small for the little ones you shove in. Until I get my new headphones it’s hard to do my musical running. I have a podcast of 9 weeks worth of Californian running. From the sofa to the marathon….
The geezer who made the podcast must be 7 feet tall, I cant keep up with the beat. Jim suggested I run in triplets……
This morning I had a dawnmare – really horrible.
Was doing my Radlett gig. I was totally unprepared. Didn’t want to get changed, lost my bags, didn’ wear my lenses, lost my prop box.The jokes fell flat. The audience left. I tried to talk my way out of it but to no avail. The ‘oosbind was unsympathetic and I was dashed.
The embarassment was gripping. I have never had an anxiety dream like it. I hope it’s the last.
I promise if you are coming to Radlett I wil be more prepared.
I now have to wash my face, put on my creams, take to my bed and read about William Roach. Yes, Ken Barlow from Corrie.
Two days to bone up on a life of 70 years.
The idea that a life long lived can fill 399 pages is really depressing, it’s like house clearances. Black bin bags containing a persons entire existence.
I hope my auto-biography is more thicker than thinner.
Until then I’d better get some sleep so that I am well enought to tell the tale.
sleep tight
dont let the credit crunch bite……