i-want-more

You said I was ill and you were not wrong

Sick again. This is no good, I hate being cooped up, I'm rubbish at doing nothing. I'm good at sitting about - but that, I think you'll find, is another matter.

The last few days have been punctuated by delirium, high temperatures and the driest throat ever. We went to see Capote at the weekend, and the sole graphically violent scene in the film haunted my dreams on Sunday night to such an extent that I woke up completely terrified. Similarly, last night I dreamt myself into the seedy world of Kenneth Williams, after watching a one-off drama about his life.

[As a side point - I was fascinated with the work of Joe Orton in my teens. I had half-forgotten Williams' connection to him. Being reminded of him was comforting, in an odd sort of way. There is something utterly disgraceful and subversive about Orton which really appeals to me.]

So, the world of daytime telly on digital has opened itself up to me. I can watch the same episode of Scrubs twice in a day, which is something at least.

Friday night was quite a whirl. You wait ages for social events to come along, then three show up at once. First off, drinks in the Brackets with Smudge and Merv. Secondly, drinks for Ms. Y and Mr. B at a wine bar. Last, but by no means least, landmark birthday drinks for Ms. Robinson in a pub in Soho.

I was already feeling under the weather on Friday, so I was a bit of a party pooper, being able to have only one drink all evening and generally not being very sociable. My hearing also suffers in a bar or pub setting, so half the time I end up nodding mutely to whatever is said, having barely understood a word. A tip to you all - just talk directly into my ear. I'm seriously considering going to lip-reading classes soon.

On Saturday afternoon I went to one of the worst jumble sales I've ever been to. There was simply nothing there of interest. The organisers were the same as the one I went to a few months ago (go digging for the blog entry, if you can be arsed). They'd increased the entrance fee to a quid (a 50% hike on the previous fee!) and once in there my sole purchase was an Iris Murdoch novel for 20p. Bloody useless.

I have plans to return to my place of employ tomorrow. There is something of note occurring in the evening, a leaving party for the wonderful Bell of the Ball, whom is leaving us for another business unit. I'm going to miss her.

Them's the breaks.

posted by deafdisco @ 1:35 am