Season of Mists and Maturing Bosoms
As I might well have said at precisely the same time last year. Haven’t found any yet, although I have come close a few times.
Attended the launch of Tom Hodgkinson’s new book ‘How to be Free’, which I am sure will be very soon – or at least remaindered. Actually it’s a splendid book and it’s only my jealousy talking….and I’m in it apparently as the posessor of an ‘attrabilious’ temperament, which translates as ‘black bile’, which means, manic depressive, which used to mean melancholic. Yes, I is a poetic, tortured soul, in needof love, sympathy and cash.
The party was held at the Old London Sessions House in Clerkenwell. Lots of free ale, wine and pretty publishing girls to pretend to be an important young writer to. Downstairs was a meeting of the local Masonry. Fellows on the square, doing funny handshakes and the like. As the evening wore on, we tried to infiltrate their ranks – but to no avail. Addressing them through Tom’s loud hailer as we exited the premises was childishly amusing though.
I’ve had a few drunken nights recently, and am now considering a return to sobriety to enable my liver to grow back in time for christmas. However – drunk or sober, I still hold with my theory that people should get naked more often. In polite society, the human form exhibited to one’s company, says more than words ever could. I don’t mean complete nudity in a 1970′s suburban dinner party way, just as a form of greeting – a brief arse flash as a sign of respect and trust..so much nicer than a handshake. Anyway, this is a theory that I will need to develop slightly…possibly from the comfort of a padded cell. It’s probably just a sign of middle age lechery creeping in – I do hope so.
Thank god mother has gone out. She’s visiting her friend who’s had a hip operation. I’m afraid she’s been insufferable today. Just because she made me bacon sandwiches, she thinks it gives her the right to interrupt my newspaper reading. I do not care that the bin men, who were due to come yesterday, actually came today because their lorry broke down. I do not care that her friend uses Tiscali broadband. I am afraid that I had occasion to speak sharply to her, explaining that the credit of bacon sandwiches did not last forever, and that the fall from the cliff face of high esteem was a lot more drastic…
I can’t believe I’m telling you about my mum…I really need to move back to London don’t I? Do you realise I haven’t done a stroke of work in almost a year? I am a parasite. Why do anything when you don’t have to? I’m even biting the hand that feeds me bacon sandwiches – at 11.30am. Actually I’m lying. Today it was 12.30pm…I was feeling a bit tired.
I shall make ammends. When Old Moore returns to London, London won’t know what’s hit it. Anyway, I think I might have come up with an invention to make my fortune. It’s to do with umbrellas and satelite navigation. Obviously I’ll need venture capital, so I thought it’d be nice to offer it to you first – otherwise it’s me and the city boys again. Any dragons out there who want to invest their life savings in The Unlosable Unbrella tm. Well don’t say I didn’t offer. Anyway, I’m off to get dressed now. It’s ten past three….PM.