London calling

After a much-needed haircut, up on the train to the smoke today leaving Calliope scowling unhappily at a battery-powered automatic feeder. First task was to drink a festive beer or two with Keith, from the Glamoursmith agency I sometimes work with. Really nice chat in The Distiller's pub. He was telling me about his twin girls who, at three, are already giving him unsolicited advice on clothes, including referring to his smart new beanie as "the funny hat". Also learned that a concept we'd worked on together had been the foundation for a successful campaign.

Then on to Edgware to hang with Mum and Mase, who are girding their loins to fly off to Costa Rica to meet Toby, Romy, Joan and Dick. They are stopping off in Houston first and meeting an old pal of Mason's who is driving 1000 miles to be there.

In the evening to the local Harvester where I ate a satisfying combo platter of ribs and chicken parts. Mas and Mum talking about bizarre people they have encountered including one guy who, when in a cafe with them, drooled in strings from the corners of his mouth when imagining the money he might make from a business deal. Mum also talking fondly about recently visiting the Harvester with old family friend Swiss Chris and watching a traditional English brawl in the car park outside.

Home and listening to a spot of bleak Armenian flute music with Mum before an early bedtime and reading Toujours Cricklewood? a collection of pieces by Alan Coren I found on their bookshelves. Coren had a lovely gentle humour, and Cricklewood I know well having had a girlfriend with especially terrifying parents there when I was a yoof.

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