The cottage is gleaming due to my new treasure Caro. I haven’t seen it yet, and I won’t until next weekend.
My garden is overgrown owing to the fact that Anna has swine flu. We wish her well.
My left nostril is blocked.
My bank balance is not as bad as that but worse than the other.
B is working in HMV, has no time for anything accept making the blasted shilling.
Jim is coughing up the tar that has coated his lungs for the last 50 years of smoking. We have more bronchial preparations than Super Drug.
The old git went for an interview on Friday for ‘The Three Sisters’ at the Lyric in Hammersmith…
Month: November 2009
birthday bagels
The cottage is gleaming due to my new treasure Caro. I haven’t seen it yet, and I won’t until next weekend.
My garden is overgrown owing to the fact that Anna has swine flu. We wish her well.
My left nostril is blocked.
My bank balance is not as bad as that but worse than the other.
B is working in HMV, has no time for anything accept making the blasted shilling.
Jim is coughing up the tar that has coated his lungs for the last 50 years of smoking. We have more bronchial preparations than Super drug.
He went for an interview on friday for The Three sister at the lyric is Hammersmith…
Back to the grindstone
Its been tricky getting back into the swing of work. Yesterdays show was clunky and a bit doddery.
Today I was up at 6.30.
I meditated, with difficulty, stilling my mind was an effort. Then I put my OHI exercise CD on, the American voice took me back to Lemon Grove, as the wind whistled over the Thames and the leaves battered the balcony I closed my eyes, worked the booty and thought of San Diego.
I left the flat at 8.15 and walked briskly to Leicester Square.
Green oaPeas.
This week has felt nearly restful.
Being in my own home means I can see the cobwebs, weeds and unashamed mess around the edges.
Having said that I have been to the beautician, the osteopath and Brighton.
The journey from our cottage to Brighton is a mile a minute. So we get there, on a good day, which it was, in about 38 minutes. Past sheep and wild fowl, past, churches and piano wearhouses, past organic farm shops and Lewes. Under the Cuilfal Tunnel, on the duel carriageway into Brighton. I get nostalgic since B went to Music school there. It makes me think of her bass playing and raggedy arsed muso’s.
IN DOLL GENTS
11.30 – 12.30 saw me writing you a very funny blog when the machine massacred it. I’m meant to be on holiday so I shouldn’t let it annoy me but it has so, rather than spend another full hour trying re-write what I deemed to be THE BEST BLOG EVER WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY OF … Read more
night night wear
It’s nightdress weather. Jim’s at The Young Vic. I am in the sitting room wearing a victorian nightdress. I need to write but my eyes are as heavy as a sack of coal. The corner deli in Battersea Square sells smoky buffalo mozzarella. When Gennaro Contaldo gave me a big box of home smoked-made-by-mama-mozzarella. I … Read more
An Education
By 9.30 ‘RISK IT FOR A BISCUIT’ was finished.
Goody and I hugged and off she went to visit her fiancee in Carshalton Hospital.
I walked by the river, the sun warm the sky blue the air cold. Thought about going to see ‘AN EDUCATION’ at BAFTA. If I got a seat I would need my BAFTA membership card. So I walked back to the flat, wakened Jim, kissed him to go to sleep again, got my card and took the 170 to Victoria.
I arrived at work feeling a lot less tired than yesterday.
The Ugly’s
Twelve hour days are not good for a girl.
I arrived home, my bag strapped to my chest, my coat gaping open, telephone in left hand, keys in the right and a head full of toxic thoughts.
The flat is peaceful, quiet, empty and all enveloping.
The train ride home was full of ugly people. Do you ever get days like that where everybody has got something wrong with them. I know its my eyes that are actually out of kilter not them, but there were overbites and underbites, overweights and overbearings, over the tops and over here, with a big ruby red fraternity ring and a very loud mid-western telephone manner.
Me and Mr. Caine.
This morning was cold. The grass, at the cottage, was covered in dewy frost.
Jim drove me to the station.
I thought we were going to miss the train in the event Jim drove back home and I was left standing by a dark waiting room.
The gates were half shut and the guards were standing in a clump by the gates.
The engineering works had overrun, a track was broken and the trains were running late or cancelled.
The crew were less than helpful. They didn’t seem to care that some of us had work deadlines. Stay calm I instructed the maniac in my head.