I am breaking my own protocol here. Today is Saturday, and I don’t blog on Saturdays. I’m not Jewish or anything, I just feel like I (and you) need a rest for at least one day a week. But it’s a long weekend, and they’re my rules so I‘ll break them if I want to. Yesterday was hard work. I made it to the Blackbird and sank a few beers. Not enough to inebriate myself under normal circumstances but they seemed to do the trick in that particular situation.
I slouched my way around Middleton farmers’ market this morning before ‘packing’ and heading for the airport. The whole journey, from start to finish, was a painful experience, made bearable only by the fact that I am reading Alan Clark’s Diaries at the moment. They saved me from a tedium that would have else surely claimed my sanity. Old AC is getting me thinking. I don’t know how edited his entries are, but they are brilliant beyond compare: remarkable for their candour, prescience and brevity. So nothing like mine then, except perhaps for the candour. I make a note to refer to everyone by their initials from now on and use obscure ‘family’ phrases that require footnotes to clarify their meaning. And to deploy the expression ‘poxy little runt’ at the first available opportunity.
I rode a cab across London an hour or so ago. It looked and felt alien. I think that in my heart, I have left that city for the time being.
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