Everything is beautiful ...

We were sitting in  a dimly lit Chinese restaurant peering at the menu, sharing our reading glasses trying to get a focus on our options. Roz said she wouldn't take her reading glasses out of the house as they made her look old. I said I liked mine as I think they make me look smart. Jess said that she blames Botox for ruining her eyesight and insists that she had perfect vision up until the day she succumed to the beauty treatment of the Gods. I don't think that Botox damages your eyesight. I think you have Botox because you look old and that your eyesight starts to fail because you are actually old. Even if she is correct and there is a corrolation between the two its best to think of it like this. With Botox you look alot better and one of the postive side effects could be that so does everyone else.

Blue Sky Thinking

I had the best day in West London yesterday. We started out in a Chinese restaurant called Pearl Liang on Sheldon Square in Paddington and hung out all day after that.

Sometimes I think that the last people I want to see are my friends. I have a strange ambiguity where they are concerned. Why would any one want to hang out with people who stand by them through thin and thinner, indulge their passing fancies and tolerate their Francis Farmer mood swings.  If they were not as conflicted as I am they could be offended but it luckily they get it.

The last thing I said to you was don't leave me

The dog appeared this morning in a picture I took of Dr John Dee's skrying mirror at The British Museum.

Visions Of You

I had to venture into Mysteries of Covent Garden to buy some altar candles for my full moon ritual tonight. I have mixed feelings about that shop, they have a good selection of candles, incense and the odd decent book. Unfortunatley they also have 3 tons of 'angel cards', meditation cd's and vulgar new age tat to wade through before you get to it. They also have the most inefficient staff in town, ringing through items seems to take ages, they stare at the till like they are deciphering Coptic text and worse they offer readings...

I must confess at this juncture that I have actually been driven so insane by my own neurosis that I have had a reading at Mysteries. Years ago though, before I started to take responsibility for my feelings  and before I embarked on the path to emotional solvency. It was a terrible reading and a waste of money that I didn't really have since that was part of the problems I was somehow hoping that the reading would solve.

Yesterday there was this truly pathetic woman standing by the till waiting for her reading. Her energy was revolting actually, countenence spineless, confusion and self pity emanated from her emaciated frame. As I waited in line (for 20 fucking minutes) I considered saving her £35 and offering her the benefit of my experience seen and unseen. I would have said this.
1. You are a woman and a universe of life and death resides within you
2. He is not coming back
3. Eat something
4. Remember who you are
5. Find God
6. Rise the fuck up

Don't ring twice and it's alright

I thought I would up date you on some young peoples cultural codes. Tim tells me that when he and his friends are riding around on buses they spend the time checking out girls who get on the bus at the various stops. He told me that they listen out for the Oyster Card beep because (and who knew) the adult card beeps once and the child card beeps twice. He said when a cute girl of indescrimate age hops aboard they are all ears because they have an off limits policy on double beepers! How utterly responsible - it's hard to believe we are related at times.

Park Life

I walked home through Green Park from Knightsbridge. I had a little salt water in my eyes as I walked through one of Chillis favourite parks. I followed our usual path down to the dog fountain. A little Bluebird flew down to take a drink as I was standing there. A cute Squirrel stood and stared at me, it was very David Lynch.  It was beautiful, this park will out live us all. I was thinking about how grief opens the heart (to more pain ultimatley) but then the price of shutting out sadness is shutting out joy. The stakes are high. Even if we pay the price for love in tears, its still a bargain.

The seaside town that they forgot to close down

I woke up in Southend on Sunday morning. The problem with that is that it had involved leaving London and by the time I saw Canary Wharf disappearing behind me on the way out I was already having second thoughts. It seemed so grim when I was arriving, going through Basildon on the train didn't help me garner any enthusiasm and yet it all seemed quite pretty by the time I was on the way back home.  The two great things about London are leaving it and returning to it. I was texting Richard on the way - I told him I could see the sea, he asked me if if was like South Point, I told him it seemed more like No Point.   The English coast reminds me of being in rehab in Brighton about 19 years ago.  The Morrissey Song Every Day Is Like Sunday used to play on the radio all the time. I used to sing it around the house to annoy the staff.