Tuesday

Tuesday, a spledid, magnificent day, wondrous blessed and wholesome - oh, Tuesday, you send me. Though I wish the clouds would part but for a few minutes.

I smell terrible. More specifically, I have to cloying odour of an ashtray about my person, owing to a sleep last night on the floor of a friend who lives in Chiswick. The friend, his girlfriend, his flatmate all smoke, and so did I, and gloried naughtily in it. Yum yum. We watched 'Spaced' and it was ever so funny. I particularly like things that make me laugh. This morning upon wiping the mist from the mirror after a long and vacillating shower I could not help noticing the facial hair was a bit long. Perhaps it is time for a handlebar moustache. And some horn-rimmed glasses. Sadly the nose is small and not comic, but I may yet raise a smile.
Chiswick is a charming corner of London it has to be said. The charity shops take the biscuit. I needed a new tie for wrok, and actually had difficulty to find one that wasn't beautiful. Will be looking spruce now.

I must to work, editing a chapter of a book for another friend who is writing one. I am quite impressed. Not only is she actually writing a book but I enjoy reading it. A little envious too: have we all not considered creating a literary work? Would we all not feel in some way our lives more fulfilled, justified, complete with 400 pages of wit/history/passion/adventure/philosophy (etc) with our name on the spine. No-one has to read it do they? I've had my leaning to writing a bodice-ripper for a while now. Kidnap in the desert, lonely castles, galoping about, shots in teh dark, bronzed thighs and heaving bosoms.

Again I wander off the topic: life in East London. Everyone looks much the same I am relieved to say, the weatehr is awful and I think I may have to start paying coucil tax. There are consolations I expect.