I started today in Trafalgar Square, with the sun smashing down. An audition, at 9.30am. What a day for it. Like the sun, I smashed it and then waited for my friend who went in right after me. We wandered through sunny Soho dreaming of what might be. And yet I had places to go. I had an appointment with the holy rail replacement bus service. I had to get to Hither Green. I ended up walking from Lewisham though. The rail replacement gods are shit. Don’t put your faith in them.
Hither Green is where my girlfriend lived at the millennium. I haven’t been back since I basically fucked that one up. Why go back? But with a lamb spitroasting in a different garden on the same streets? And many good people hanging out to help consume it..? I am not made of stone. It was the right place and the right time to reclaim Hither Green. Despite stupid stupid young Al stupid.
I had a turn turning the spit. If we are going to eat meat we should know what we’re doing so I thought it right to turn it and thank it as I turned it. I’ve been friends with a lamb before and I still eat lamb. Which means that I’m capable of eating my friends. Hi! Come stay. One day it might catch up with me. Today I turned the spit while Golfo’s dad basted and seasoned the thing. He fed me the kidneys. I ate them from his hand. Then we cut it up into little pieces and fed it to everyone. When can you stay? Great. Bring some fava beans. And a nice Chianti.
After dinner we played pingy Victorian ball-hook game. It was awesome. Golfo’s little sister was unbeatable at it. I had no choice but to be her Olympic commentator and blast encouraging noises about her ability until I realised it was too late and I had to be home to see my cousin outlaw. I pulled myself away into a long long Uber journey shunning the false hell-gods of rail replace, returning to my happy home again. Now I’m home, trying to hold it together despite the fact that I’m bank holiday audition level drunk.
Bank holidays are always crazy. And hot ones doubly so. Everyone goes mental and all the infrastructure collapses. I suspect we are always just three consecutive bank holidays away from anarchy. I ate a friendly lamb and played ukelele and ball games, and auditioned for a part I really want.
I’ve done so much walking lately. As soon as the weather is half decent I shanks-pony it everywhere. Yesterday I went from Hampstead to Crouch End, and discovered an abandoned train track. Everything was in bloom. It’s such a glorious time of year.
“Have you mentioned that you’re drunk writing this?” says my (first cousin once removed?) Apparently that’s the relationship. I’m lost in these things but she’s hacked it together loosely. “Yes” I tell her. “Strangely I have this time.” But yeah . You need to know that. It’s effecting the cognitive leaps.
Tomorrow the world comes back. I’d sooner just hang with Golfo’s family and eat friends. I mean lamb. I don’t eat friends. Come stay. Phtp-phtp-phtp-phtp-phtp