Got the flu again. Like every fucking month. Should probably include some vitamins and a little less alcohol in my diet (joke).
Bumped into a Swedish girl called Bodil in a terrible Oirish Theme Pub (“Caffreys”) where I was trying to watch the football and read the paper. In the 6 months since I last saw her she’s gone from having a Swedish accent to an Irish one, due to working at another Irish pup I suppose. Very strange. She wanted me to come to some R&B night tonight but I’d really rather not.
About twenty minutes later I had to flee the old town because it was giving me the fear. Sometimes I just can’t stand being in the centre – its like going down the road to the Disneyland of English stag parties. And always a good thousand people standing around the stupid fucking astronomical clock.
So I sought refuge in the Internment Cafe.
Also today in the Grauniad there’s an extract from John Fowles’ diaries talking about
the filming of his genius book ‘The Collector’ which sums up pretty well why it is I’m never going to have a career in the film industry .
Oh, and this is pretty funny, though old.