This morning I legged it to Clapham Junction, took the train to Waterloo and walked over Huntingford Bridge.
The air was clear. St. Pauls, The Gherkin and the OXO Tower were stark white against a blue sky.
Most people walking towards me were smiling, the rest of us walking into Charing Cross had that purposeful look that workers get when they think they are late.
A band played on the bridge, Trumpet, accordian, tambourine and an empty plastic water carrier. They played Eastern European jazz/funk/folk. The most perfect sound track for our London Skyline. Quirky, rythmic and fun. I gave ’em money and listened for a good five minutes.
Work was very Friday. MANDY MUDEN came in and talked about magic. She’s teaching me a few tricks for Sunday March 8th. International Womans Day.
Please try and come to the London Studios on the Southbank, all money goes to women and childern with HIV.
This evening I went to see KEN STOTT in A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE.
Apart from the coughers – who drove me utterly mad – the play was rivetting. I did not move a muscle from start to finish. great cast, superb acting and Millers writing, the twists and turns, is the best kind of head work.
I walked back to Waterloo. Past at least 6 beggers. They now sit right in the middle of the walk way. Which makes me not want to given them anything, as if being obtrusive makes people want to donate more.
I always give money but this evening, when I noticed one on a mobile phone under his blanket, I felt less than compassionate. not like me really.
Watching Ken Stott occupy the stage made me miss the old man.
But it has been an emotional week with all sorts going on with the daughter and her beau.
If it weren’t for my darling Sybil in the States I think I might go a bit boinkers. Sybil would say I have already achieved that status.
Johnathon Ross is on in the background, I’m gonna have a cup of tea and return to DEWEY my cat book. Hopefully I get to talk to the author if she can fit me in.
It’s 23.08 and the kettle has boiled. have a lovely weeekend.