Didn’t manage to sleep at all thanks to German idiot upstairs and his blaring gramophone. I wouldn’t have minded but it was all Holger Hiller and no Holger Czukay. No wonder people are driven to become Terrorists. I fear this world shall not outlive me. I wonder if I should tape and sample the core collapse.
To Wardour Street for Roxy tour rehearsals. Why did I agree to sign up to this crusty old tin bath of a reunion? It’s bad enough having to deal with Bryan day to day, sorting out his pension, cooking his meals, when the truth is Roxy didn’t pay me enough money to be able to afford a home help. “Everyone thinks we’re living in luxury in huge mansions,” Mackay commented, “but I had to borrow Brendan Flowers’ pen to sign an autograph for him and Eddie Riff counts for nothing at the Post Office counter I can tell you.” “You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Brianna whined in the background but he always does that when he wants attention. Ran through a few tunes and it was OK but hardly the Spinners. On way home we bumped into that ancient derelict Jimmy Tarbuck waddling down Essex Road ! “They’ve flown me up from Weybridge for a telly,” he said & we greeted him warmly. Back home for the News and it was all Mass Shootings and this Myerson somebody or other. Apparently it’s a drug family. Typical Socialist BBC; always focus on the deprived and depraved, never attend to the small glories of the aspirational. Wouldn’t have happened in Wheldon’s day. Slight stomach ache radiating to chest left at 8:46 PM; may have overdone the raspberries on the lamb cutlets. Humanity has had it & there’s no doubt about that. Went to bed thinking morosely of Kenneth Connor and a distressed camel. Had to spray the bed & bedclothes & pillow cases & pyjamas with DDT etc. straightway afterwards. It’s a disgrace.
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