Doggets with Bob
Woke up wrong headed today. Everything seems impossible to achieve. Despite this I have sent Matthew the updated version of the words for our concert today, and went to the gym for a really mild mannered workout.
Pushed off up to London this afternoon to meet Bob. I was early and lurked in the Royal Festival Hall looking out at the river and the pretty lights, and the Millennium Wheel. Increasingly feeling like a tourist these days in London, despite having worked for a couple of years in the IBM building almost next door.
Met Bob in the Auberge at Waterloo. He looking sprightly and we had a few beers, there in the Mulberry Bush, and Doggets which Mad Dog is inextricably drawn to. We didn't play pool but sat on stools watching a young couple playing as we discussed wide-ranging, profound issues. The boyfriend had those fashionable trousers that hang off the bum, and when he leant across the table to take a shot, we got a view of genuinely unpleasant hairiness, which put me off my beer for a bit.
Crossed the bridge looking back at Sea Containers House, and the South Bank, with the trees lit up with little blue lights and the dark sweep of the river towards the Festival Hall, and The Houses of Parliament. London can be a magnificent city sometimes.
Bob and I then walked down Fleet Street and found our usual subterranean curry house for a curry. Bob always asks for the hottest curry, and then demands extra chili with a manic intensity. For some reason this means I often get a much hotter curry than usual too, as I am tarred with the same brush.
Home on the late train, tired, listening to the Silmarillion. It is written in such a lofty way, and crammed with lineage and millions of invented names and races and so on, it all gets a bit much.
Woke up wrong headed today. Everything seems impossible to achieve. Despite this I have sent Matthew the updated version of the words for our concert today, and went to the gym for a really mild mannered workout.
Pushed off up to London this afternoon to meet Bob. I was early and lurked in the Royal Festival Hall looking out at the river and the pretty lights, and the Millennium Wheel. Increasingly feeling like a tourist these days in London, despite having worked for a couple of years in the IBM building almost next door.
Met Bob in the Auberge at Waterloo. He looking sprightly and we had a few beers, there in the Mulberry Bush, and Doggets which Mad Dog is inextricably drawn to. We didn't play pool but sat on stools watching a young couple playing as we discussed wide-ranging, profound issues. The boyfriend had those fashionable trousers that hang off the bum, and when he leant across the table to take a shot, we got a view of genuinely unpleasant hairiness, which put me off my beer for a bit.
Crossed the bridge looking back at Sea Containers House, and the South Bank, with the trees lit up with little blue lights and the dark sweep of the river towards the Festival Hall, and The Houses of Parliament. London can be a magnificent city sometimes.
Bob and I then walked down Fleet Street and found our usual subterranean curry house for a curry. Bob always asks for the hottest curry, and then demands extra chili with a manic intensity. For some reason this means I often get a much hotter curry than usual too, as I am tarred with the same brush.
Home on the late train, tired, listening to the Silmarillion. It is written in such a lofty way, and crammed with lineage and millions of invented names and races and so on, it all gets a bit much.
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