The show would have just started on a normal night. I’m in bed.
We put the world to rights last night and in so doing we drank all the wine I’ve got, ate all the sausages and curry and naan, and a whole pack of cola bottles, laughed a lot and trashed the kitchen. I left the oven on all night by mistake. Yes I’d do it again, apart from the oven. I probably will do it again somewhere, maybe even including the oven.
5am sleep perhaps, and then up in the morning to meet Darren for brunch. Haven’t seen him since Paris. We went to Arkle, where Liam and Hester and Al were all munching healthily. I succeeded in eating about half of my chili eggs. Then we had a walk down the river and I barely got back in time to my digs and my poisoned body’s wholehearted rejection of the chili eggs. Shouldn’t have had something spicy. I never learn that one.
Back to bed and an argument with life. Do I really have to participate today? My body wouldn’t sleep but wasn’t really much into being awake either so I maintained a prone equilibrium between waking and sleeping, as nameless as the week after Christmas. It wasn’t comfortable or uncomfortable really it was just a period of existing. I called it time at about half past 4 and washed the guilt off in the shower, put a sharp suit on and walked to Avonside. Claire helped me nail a self tape, where the only real obstacle to the job is that the part feels like he might be clean shaven and Lodo has his Shakesbeard.
Waking up a little I rang Lou in the evening air and went to Lambs at Sheep Street. “No wine this evening?” asks the waitress and dear me yes I’m a creature of habit it seems. “Absolutely not, I haven’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I tell her and I see her worry when I go to the loo a bit later.
I ate my chicken and my soup all up like a good boy. Took plenty of time over it. I can say with a degree of confidence that it will now be broken down to liquids by acid and enzymes in my stomach and then broken into smaller and smaller molecules as it passes through my digestive tract. A slower process than one of the other options but ultimately a better outcome.
AlBarclay 