Oh dear, I am sitting in my garret listening to Burt Bacharach and nursing another hangover. Not a dreadful one - quite tolerable in fact, and I am not required to be anywhere for several hours yet. I've just consumed a bacon sandwich - prepared on the George Foreman grilling machine. I must take a moment to sing the praises of this device. It is apparently one of the most popular unopened Christmas presents of all time ... mine was liberated from Mother's shed, where it had lain un-open for years.
It is brutally simple...not even complicated by an on off switch ... just plug it in and clamp it shut and it cooks stuff and all the fat drips down a slope into a tray. I have a feeling that it is aimed at people who are perhaps not the brightest - perfect for me in my present condition.
I have taken to London life again like a migrating duck returning to water ... well, not water perhaps, liquid shall we say? Anyway, it's got to stop. I've come back for constructive purposes ... not meaningless hedonism ... ooh hang on ... three magpies just flew past the window. Now if I remember the theme tune right, that's three for a girl. I'd better put a suit on - always follow the signs.
I'm afraid I didn't make it to the Joiners Arms in Southampton last night. The lure of saucy snaps and free vodka was too great. I am sure Haines will have played a blinder. In fact when I sent him the obligatory "break a leg" text, he replied that he already had. I can assure anybody hoping to have witnessed my saw accompaniment that they didn't miss much. Still, I will be in Bristol this Friday with my serrated edges pointing inwards, and my bow gently stoking.
The walk along the Thames to the exhibition was utterly inspiring. The skyline made me feel as excited as I used to feel looking at New York. Take my aesthetic advice if you will - there are some quite nice buildings round there ... pity they're all for working in, but that's reality for you. And, even though I am opposed to warfare and military unpleasantness of all kinds, I would quite fancy a go on the HMS Belfast ... no wonder Britannia used to rule the waves, imagine if that turned up in your coastal waters? ... hang on a minute - this is the Daily Telegraph isn't it?
Talking of Haines, I'm going to have to do something about that Rabbit stew. I can't bring myself to eat it. Utter hypocrisy I know, seeing as I have consumed pig already today, but rabbit? Peter Rabbit, Benjamin Bunny, Run Rabbit Run, Friday/Rabbit-Pie Day? I can't do it. I am not Mr McGregor. But what can I do with it? I don't think it will flush down the toilet - it's too big - practically a whole rabbit. It would be a bit embarrassing to explain to my new landlord that I'd blocked the toilet by flushing rabbits down it. Can I just throw it in a bin? I know Camden is very particular about its recycling. If I had a garden I'd bury it. I could even say a few words. Anyway, please do not worry too much about this. It will resolve itself. Once my head clears, an obvious solution will present itself ... would it be rude if I just gave it back?
Must go off now and see if the magpies were right.
