Getting organised
First morning in blighty. Grey all day. How can us Brits live without ever seeing the sun in summer? No wonder so many of us are busy stabbing each other. Slept well though in the cool night, however, but woke unfeasibly early and got up after an hour or so to sift my email backlog. Spent the morning setting up another interview for next monday - and a possible one with Bill Bryson on the horizon, which if it came off would be a fascinating.
I seemed to have a million things to organise today: Ash text nagged me to book my ticket to Eire, and Marcella followed it up with several emails, telling me I needed to bring a suit and so on. Marcella's wedding is on November 1st in her home town of Westport on the gorgeous west coast. I went there a few years ago with several pals to celebrate Marcella's birthday, and Matty boy drove me off to the grave of my hero WB Yeats.
Also researched the local gyms, and have narrowed it down to two. Then internet groceries, two loads of laundry - a couple of business calls and the best part of the day had evaporated. Then Steve Wrigley (my old next door neighbour) invited me to see the Brighton Beach Boys on Monday, and meet Stephen Kalinich again.
Lorraine popped by for a sparkling water in the afternoon. She is busy organising as her son and father share a birthday this Friday - 18th and 75th respectively.
When she went I listened to more of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. I am near finishing the thing at last. Despite being a wonderfully impressive book, it has its longeurs and for my money could have done with a much tougher edit. I think it is a marvellous achievement but one that is hard to wholeheartedly love. Just read a review by Michel Faber (who wrote the excellent The Crimson Petal and the White) here, which helped me crystalise why I don't really warm to it. So far, for all my admiration of it, the book has not genuinely moved me.
Out with Anton this evening where we discussed all kinds of stuff including J S & Mr N at length, which he loves. Quite a few drinks and accusing one another of having Norrellite tendencies, followed by a taxi ride to Hove Tandoori. According to Anton, this place has an excellent reputation, and was rather good and a buzzy atmosphere. Enjoyed seeing a man polishing the laughing waiter's sweaty bald head with his napkin. Very Brighton (well Hove). It is well known down here that that Hove is really called "Hove Actually", as in "so, you live in Brighton then? No, Hove Actually."
Then back to our beloved Eddy for a final cheeky.
First morning in blighty. Grey all day. How can us Brits live without ever seeing the sun in summer? No wonder so many of us are busy stabbing each other. Slept well though in the cool night, however, but woke unfeasibly early and got up after an hour or so to sift my email backlog. Spent the morning setting up another interview for next monday - and a possible one with Bill Bryson on the horizon, which if it came off would be a fascinating.
I seemed to have a million things to organise today: Ash text nagged me to book my ticket to Eire, and Marcella followed it up with several emails, telling me I needed to bring a suit and so on. Marcella's wedding is on November 1st in her home town of Westport on the gorgeous west coast. I went there a few years ago with several pals to celebrate Marcella's birthday, and Matty boy drove me off to the grave of my hero WB Yeats.
Also researched the local gyms, and have narrowed it down to two. Then internet groceries, two loads of laundry - a couple of business calls and the best part of the day had evaporated. Then Steve Wrigley (my old next door neighbour) invited me to see the Brighton Beach Boys on Monday, and meet Stephen Kalinich again.
Lorraine popped by for a sparkling water in the afternoon. She is busy organising as her son and father share a birthday this Friday - 18th and 75th respectively.
When she went I listened to more of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. I am near finishing the thing at last. Despite being a wonderfully impressive book, it has its longeurs and for my money could have done with a much tougher edit. I think it is a marvellous achievement but one that is hard to wholeheartedly love. Just read a review by Michel Faber (who wrote the excellent The Crimson Petal and the White) here, which helped me crystalise why I don't really warm to it. So far, for all my admiration of it, the book has not genuinely moved me.
Out with Anton this evening where we discussed all kinds of stuff including J S & Mr N at length, which he loves. Quite a few drinks and accusing one another of having Norrellite tendencies, followed by a taxi ride to Hove Tandoori. According to Anton, this place has an excellent reputation, and was rather good and a buzzy atmosphere. Enjoyed seeing a man polishing the laughing waiter's sweaty bald head with his napkin. Very Brighton (well Hove). It is well known down here that that Hove is really called "Hove Actually", as in "so, you live in Brighton then? No, Hove Actually."
Then back to our beloved Eddy for a final cheeky.
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