(no subject)
All alone, lying on the floor listening to music. Everything's a bit of a mess. The phone went a couple of times, but I left it.
This morning I managed five episodes of Orson Welles's Harry Lime radio serial, which is all free at the Internet Archive. He is a much less unpleasant character in these than he is in The Third Man. Half the time Welles sounds completely unfamiliar with the lines, as if he's being handed them phrase by phrase as he speaks. Every episode begins with Lime being shot dead, as at the close of the film. Then, in a tangled-up, self-referential, auto-critical sort of outburst, he explains that this is sound of him being killed in Vienna "as those of you know who saw the movie The Third Man". "Yes," he continues, rather obviously, "that was the end of Harry Lime ... but it was not the beginning."
So, I've just been lying here really, wondering how I would have got on back then. Back when the waistband of the male trouser was worn closer to the armpit than the testicle, as is favoured today.
*
(Everything's a bit of a mess in this room, I mean. I wasn't generalising about my life.)