Recovering

It’s so cold here. What the fuck?

I’ve been in a T-shirt every day and that’s only Paris. It’s a frisbee throw away. You land ten minutes after you take off.

My body has realised it’s allowed to stop.

This morning I dropped Brian at Heathrow then took some keys to a friend’s key box then loaded twenty seven bags of costume into Bergman and then unloaded it across town. Then I realised I was gonna fall asleep. I got back home and fell flat on my face and woke up groggy three hours later. Mad dreams. Now I’m aching all over and covered in bruises. I slowly shuffled downstairs and into Bergie and we hauled ass to Glyndebourne. Crashes on the 25 and the fact that my tummy is behaving very strangely meant that my journey down south was longer than it should have been. A day or two of taking it easy and I’ll be ready for the second part of the job. But it’s a useful reminder that there was so much backed up behind my endless drive to go go go.

Lou’s is the perfect place to be for me to reassemble myself ready for round two. The sea, the big light, the fluffy cat, the thoughtful routines and healthy food. If only it wasn’t so fecking cold. I might be aching but at least I’ve got a tan.

Now for a chamomile.