“Rest”

My best friend has cut her hair. It’s considerably shorter and looks great. Seeing her this afternoon immediately made me want to do the same – to get a set of clippers and buzz the lot off to grade 1. I’ve got the pilgrimage for it to grow back. And I like myself shorn like that. I feel sexier and faster. Plus it’s nice to rub.

I can’t shave it right now though. I’m doing this one nighter at The Arcola on Sunday 23rd, the night before my birthday. It involves someone stroking my bald bits and telling me there are still some strands of hair coming through “like spider legs”. I get all the best jobs…

Maybe I’ll do it after the show before I go walking but then I’m Scrooge in December. Can Scrooge be shorn? I haven’t the foggiest. Maybe. I’ve seen a shaven headed Scrooge. But then if I shaved I’d have to get new headshots and all that malarkey… Ahh so much to consider.

It was good to see Min today albeit briefly. She was winding down and feeding fish to the baby and I was hanging and unwashed. I felt big and unwieldy and smelly so I didn’t stick around. Today has not been particularly productive generally, although it has been lovely. Anyone that read last night’s ramble would know that I’d had a few too many, so I’ve just been recovering in good company. The advantages of actually “resting.”

But while I’m going on about haircuts, over in Brazil possibly the greatest cultural disaster of our lifetime has taken place. The Brazil National Museum has been completely gutted by fire. My friend in Rio messaged me to say people are talking about arson, which leaves me speechless with rage. The burning of the Library of Alexandria catalysed the period of backwards motion and comparative ignorance we call The Dark Ages. We are already in a period of backwards motion and comparative ignorance. But 20 million artifacts from our past up in flames? Their loss can only add to the general worldwide level of idiocy over time. So much lost. So much irreplacable. They weren’t insured either, not that you can put a price on the sort of things that went up in flames. Surely arson is just a rumour. What could motivate an arson like that? Covering a theft? Surely nobody is that venal, he says, knowing at last sadly that yes they can be…

And as i wrote that last sentence, Pickle pissed on the beanbag right in front of me, looking me dead in the eye. She hasn’t done anything like that for ages. I reckon it’s her way of protesting about the library burning. Perhaps demonstrating what she would’ve done to put the fire out. Brian and I cleaned it as best we could, propped it up in the bathroom to dry, and watched Better Call Saul. Now it’s a comparatively early bed and tomorrow I might try to do something more productive than watch a baby eat fish and clean cat wee off a beanbag.

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Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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