Over the last week I’ve had a bunch of edgy builders doing nonspecific work in the flat next to me. That’s the flat that overlooks the massive great big mansion that was built during COVID out of Royal Hospital land for Holly Valance to live in with Ritchie McRich. I couldn’t work out why there were so many people being so cagey. “What are you lads doing?” “Oh we’re making the roof so it can open up for fire safety.” “What are you lads doing?” “Oh we’re repairing the water pipes.” “What are you lads doing?” … Just… anything but what they’re actually doing. Like when I was part of that fractious team shooting a documentary about a famous person. Boring lie > Truth. You don’t want the stinky celeb followers shuffling around if it’s something involving famous people, you don’t want the hordes of “I’m an actor” twats if it’s creative filming. And you don’t want the mad fucker with an assault rifle if it’s a Trump rally. Although in all honesty, the mad fucker with the rifle is attending the Trump rally, and he’s only gonna go home and take the safety off if things don’t go his way.
Building a sniper nest for the secret service? Making the place nice for some republican dignitary? Who knows. Anything but what they told me. Hopefully nothing’ll go down in my block tonight.
Donald Trump jr is about 100 foot north of me as I write, along with many of big republican donors. All sorts of funds are being raised right now. The bottom of Tite Street was laden with paps this evening. I’m glad I didn’t go up on my roof last night as I might have been sniped.
I’m turning in early. Another workshop at arse o’clock and this one is in Hackney. Technically it’s only seven miles away but it would be better if it was in Reading. I was supposed to go to the same place a year ago, but then the teacher got COVID. No such luck this year. I’m going off to talk about careers and passion. Not one I’ve done before. But one that I’ll be decent at, as I’m not interested in compromise when it comes to the way our lives live us.
Bed bed bed bed.
I’ve been a laundry machine. Booked some last minute all encompassing work. I’ve had to cancel loads to make it happen but it’ll be consistent and it’ll definitely keep me honest. I’ve needed something like this. “Oh fuck you’ll be going on about the universe again,” Brian tells me. “It’s hard work to get into the position where people ask you. It’s not the fucking universe.” (It might be though? I’ll go with a little of both.)
So I’ll put myself to bed soon. Likely have some sleepyjuice. Gotta leave at 7 tomorrow. Can’t let down the Catholic youth of hackney. Plus I need the dough.
AlBarclay 