It started with a cinema trip. It was sort of a last minute decision to go so I went by myself. It didn't really matter though. It was a silent film and my friend Stephen, who was playing the piano (and flute...simultaneously...that's right, he's a wizard) had got me a ticket. I spent the time before the film talking to him and then to the woman beside me, until she started complaining about all the immigrants with their nail bars that are ruining Ealing. At this point I was relieved the film started so I wouldn't have to be unthinkably rude and roll my eyes at her. Until that point we'd just been admiring the Art Deco features of the cinema (so in keeping with Pandora's Box).
And then of course the projector began to roll and I spent a transfixed couple of hours with Louise Brooks and Jack the Ripper.
A couple of days later it was the theate. Again, not so strange. Who would I talk to anyway? The point of the theatre is to sit in silent concentration and soak up what is going to happen to the world by 2071 and quake in my boots. Oh God, the Carbon emissions!
And then it was a two course lunch with wine. I wasn't sure if it felt deliciously decedant or like I had no friends. Let's go with the first, shall we. Despite being alone, I was in the literary company of Robert Louis Stevenson, who assured my that my inclination to be Idle is not only justified but probably good for me. He also gave me a good talking to about whether I should be An Artist or not. The jury is still out on that one.
Apart from the book though, I chatted with the waiters and observed. What are those people talking about? Why is that couple not talking? Who's is that baby?
I wondered what people would observe about me. But I wasn't being observed. I was alone and invisible to the diners of Sloane Square.
It was really rather nice.
So quite a lot of me time this last week and I'm unashamedly relishing it. In order that I don't embark on a phase of complete reclusion, however, I'm sharply cutting myself off. For a little at least. And now I sign off and speak to some friends. I forgot to mention that I'm being anti-social as we speak. But that's the internet for you!
And then of course the projector began to roll and I spent a transfixed couple of hours with Louise Brooks and Jack the Ripper.
A couple of days later it was the theate. Again, not so strange. Who would I talk to anyway? The point of the theatre is to sit in silent concentration and soak up what is going to happen to the world by 2071 and quake in my boots. Oh God, the Carbon emissions!
And then it was a two course lunch with wine. I wasn't sure if it felt deliciously decedant or like I had no friends. Let's go with the first, shall we. Despite being alone, I was in the literary company of Robert Louis Stevenson, who assured my that my inclination to be Idle is not only justified but probably good for me. He also gave me a good talking to about whether I should be An Artist or not. The jury is still out on that one.
Apart from the book though, I chatted with the waiters and observed. What are those people talking about? Why is that couple not talking? Who's is that baby?
I wondered what people would observe about me. But I wasn't being observed. I was alone and invisible to the diners of Sloane Square.
It was really rather nice.
So quite a lot of me time this last week and I'm unashamedly relishing it. In order that I don't embark on a phase of complete reclusion, however, I'm sharply cutting myself off. For a little at least. And now I sign off and speak to some friends. I forgot to mention that I'm being anti-social as we speak. But that's the internet for you!
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