I abhor this bogus Pop Music business and its feeble flaccidity. In rehearsals today that tawny tit Manzanera started niggling away unprofessionally at my delivery until I could take no more. "Oh yes," sneered Kenwright, "you're just sore because I've taken all your nice, clever little bits away, all your little theories and squiggles...I do not want this to be a Brian Eno play...that is not what I want...none of these lines can be thrown away...I want to draw out the play's essential SERIOUSNESS." This from someone who's directing a dredged-up slice of boom knicker slapstick Swansea Rep tat. Departed Greenwich in a suicidal state. A bunch of tourists came up to me and smiled "Hello, Brian!" and I told them to fuck off and darted up Vine Street dreaming of sailors. In my protracted decline solitude is the only answer I'm afraid.
To South Bank Studios to do Whose Goldfish? Gary Wilmot was on my team & Willem Brueker & Maureen Nolan on the other. I recognised Michelle McManus' fish straightway but kept schtumm. Total ITV rep tat but as Laurena warned me I have to be less choosy about the work these days. Watched ELP Live At Montreux 1997 with Bryan on Sky Arts & we marvelled at how much higher the standards were then & went to bed singing "Forty Thousand Sailors On The Tee At Bali-Bali" & other old favourites from the Twenties. Traditional. Greg Lake's serrated yet serenely elegant neck.
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