The Mobile Clubbing, Flash Mob entertained.  I arrived at Liverpool St Station just after 7.22 to see a sea of people all shaking their stuff, while others watched on from all around the station.  Having met friends, including Confused Boy, who came complete with pillow, in the mistaken hope of a repeat of the pillow fight he’d so enjoyed last year ( Read more... )

Life has stolen me from my journal: no great loss to the written word, but my records of things becomes patchy. Perhaps the point of this journal is to attempt to curtail the dementia that is, no doubt, creeping up on me in my dotage. But then if an event doesn’t jump to the front of my little memory box without some external prompt, was it of such ( Read more... )

Last night went to the Betsey Trotwood to see friend’s band. Very Wall of Sound. Also wall of friends. One has won tipi accommodation for the summer’s best party, which should all add to fun of it.

( Email dialogue between myself and artist friend (J) who knits strange objects. )

I live near Pentonville prison, from where an armed robber has just escaped. Oh my god, I must ensure I don't get in a car and start drinking with a dangerous fugitive on the loose. Lucky I don't have a car. That was the most irritating film I've seen in an age. The following night, the contents of this room in Mayfair didn't even irritate in most ( Read more... )

I guess a diary can provide a skeleton of events that one can later flesh out with the emotions that were there, without having to record them at the time; though I wonder if the shape that my memory will make will in anyway resemble the body of my life as I lived it?  And so to collect together some bare bones.

Before drunk, I spent a weekend in ( Read more... )