Living a lie
To work, feeling less tired than of late. Poems on the train, then quite a busy morning.
Out to a local restaurant with seven others for a curry lunch. Unbelievably slow service. You could feel the space time continuum buckled as we waited and the waiters crept about reluctantly as if we had ruined their day by visiting their restaurant. Outside a gale blowing through London again, and it was blowing the sign outside the shop down, and straining the trees and pedestrians leant into it like cartoon people. I sat opposite Matt and next to Pat, and had good fun.
In the evening, after work was done, I had a couple of the agency’s free Thursday drinks, meeting Matt Hindley again, before setting off with Pat and Clare to The Dog and Duck in Soho. This is a corner pub, much beloved of advertising types. We met Mark Dawson and Barney there and stood outside in the cold for a while. Clare left after a bit, and it was a night of four writers.
Heard the incredible story of Mike Ferg, who I’ve known for many years, who has been battling cancer for the last eight. And with whom I had a bit of a farewell style drink in Brighton a couple of years ago. Turns out that he’d made up the whole thing, and he did not have cancer at all, and he had hoodwinked employers out of thousands in time off fighting the imaginary disease. He was particularly scathing about anything he saw as self-pity, but it transpired his whole life was a mechanism to generate undeserved pity.
Otherwise a really good night. Good to see Mark Dawson again, who is enjoying an evening acting class, and Barney too. Barney Pat and I cabbed to Victoria, and I arrived home late to find Lorraine in bed after a ladies night out, chatting lots before we went to sleep.
Out to a local restaurant with seven others for a curry lunch. Unbelievably slow service. You could feel the space time continuum buckled as we waited and the waiters crept about reluctantly as if we had ruined their day by visiting their restaurant. Outside a gale blowing through London again, and it was blowing the sign outside the shop down, and straining the trees and pedestrians leant into it like cartoon people. I sat opposite Matt and next to Pat, and had good fun.
In the evening, after work was done, I had a couple of the agency’s free Thursday drinks, meeting Matt Hindley again, before setting off with Pat and Clare to The Dog and Duck in Soho. This is a corner pub, much beloved of advertising types. We met Mark Dawson and Barney there and stood outside in the cold for a while. Clare left after a bit, and it was a night of four writers.
Heard the incredible story of Mike Ferg, who I’ve known for many years, who has been battling cancer for the last eight. And with whom I had a bit of a farewell style drink in Brighton a couple of years ago. Turns out that he’d made up the whole thing, and he did not have cancer at all, and he had hoodwinked employers out of thousands in time off fighting the imaginary disease. He was particularly scathing about anything he saw as self-pity, but it transpired his whole life was a mechanism to generate undeserved pity.
Otherwise a really good night. Good to see Mark Dawson again, who is enjoying an evening acting class, and Barney too. Barney Pat and I cabbed to Victoria, and I arrived home late to find Lorraine in bed after a ladies night out, chatting lots before we went to sleep.
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