Everything squeaked this morning. The womans shoulder strap on her bag outside the Tate.
The bicycle that sped past on Horseferry Street.
My hips as I finally arrived at LBC.
I left very early.
Walked over Battersea Bridge.
Over Albert Bridge.
Then across Chelsea Bridge.
Right along the embankment. The Number 24 bust past me all the way to Hampstead.
Month: January 2009
Ducking the trend.
St, James Parked under a heavy sky. Smoke was billowing out of a Buck house chimney – had the Pope died? I walked round the lake and saw with my own eyes families of ducks dipping for supper. There was a veil of damp rain it was quite literally water off a ducks back. My … Read more
ONLY WHEN I LAUGH by JACK SHEPHERD
I left the flat in the bright sunshine. It was cool and fresh. The boats looked like paper ships on a painted river. Walked over Battersea bridge, down Cheyne Walk right through to Pimlico, down past Victoria Station and then I got really fired up so I walked past Buck house, through to St. James, … Read more
Ox-tails
Gung Hay Fat Choy! Happy Year of the Ox. I am pogged on dumplings and custard cakes. Thank you to the GOLDEN PALACE in China Town, wonderful service, atmosphere and of course food. I am replete on Jasmine tea and conversation. Jim is doing his first tech run tonight then tomorrow we go to the … Read more
Hertfordshire and back
Allan Sillitoe on Desert Island Discs, was so predictable. From ‘Old Man River’ to his stories. Not that there is anything wrong with predictability but being surprised by a persons life is always uplifting – he did not uplift me. I arrived at my mothers in time to buy a bag of Turkish delights and … Read more
Logs agogo
POSITIVE SHRINKING by KEVIN LAYE, has had hundreds of you wanting to know about tapping.
Buy his book, it’s only little, and you’ll be able to tap, dowse and think your self slim – well that’s what he says.
I had a productive meeting with Steve Campen, my ex producer, who is now helping me prepare AN AUDIENCE WITH for March 26th in CROYDON. We talked over coffee in Garfunkles in Leicester Square. He started it – when I saw the tears in his eyes I started blubbing and had to agree that making it to 60 was something to sing about.
Which I may well do….
Friday night is musing night
A curry for a friday. I’m now so tired I can’t remember me naan. Mind you she died 36 years ago. boom boom. night night.
Number 11 and still counting
Getting from here to Leicester Square is turning into a delightful game. The puzzle of London where all roads seem to lead to and from home.
All buses get me near to the Square and all tubes are mere moments away from somewhere.
This morning I set off early, having meditated and researched the programme, the weather was satisfactorily mild and the light perfect for an energetic stroll
A day at the Office.
Th Italian caff on the corner of Leicester Square is like being on the continent.
The waitresses are ever so slightly surly, the waitors musically inclined, the paying customers mostly foreign and the big portions of food are served up on big white plates.
Wherever you sit there is a big window to look out of.
The Hippodrome, or Wyndhams Theatre, or The Spotlight offices – for the actors don’t you know – Leicester Square itself. It really feels like you’re a tourist.
This morning Steve Allen and I shared a table.
He had a bagel and Earl grey tea.
I had baked beans, scrambled egg – with a tomato and sprig of parsley garnish, and a cup of coffee.
To party or not to party
My eye was glued together when I woke up.
Now it could be an eye-lash ( or ash-leye as Bee used to call it) or my insomnia.
Whatever it is I woke up this morning in a fowl temper.
Jim had decamped to the spare room – he’s dangerously close to opening night – so I woke alone and gummed up.