Thoughts for a friend on a very cruel event.

.I feel firmly put in place tonight.

Joking aside I take the piss out of mankind, Notting Hill, tourists and myself but sometimes I have to stop and wonder.

I do not believe in god and am now left to puzzle over who could possibly do such a cruel thing.

I will write about it.

You bet.

Holiday romance

Sorry about the lousy sound quality.

Welding and confessions.

The paparazzi are becoming more cunning. I was unable to spot one of them last night although I know they are there. No doubt the photographs are doing the rounds as we speak.

I was mistaken for a priest at one point, before the error was corrected a number of young ladies had lined up to give me their confessions. I confess that I was tempted to hear them.

I also met a charming young welder (I have not met a female welder before) Which allowed me to enjoy a conversation that would have been unimaginable before.

Often

Often it is the closest people who fall out.

Celebrity and its pitfalls.

Once again I find a crowd outside my front door, the third time this has happened this week.

They are all armed with cameras and snap away as I emerge. there appeared to be a ringleader so I approached and asked him what it was all about.

He said it was the Notting Hill celebrity tour.

http://www.thecelebrityplanet.com/london/the-celebrity-walking-tour-of-notting-hill.html

A Japanese tourist asked if I would go back in then answer the door wearing nothing but underpants.

No. I don't think so.

John Fothergill

Short stories about tall women.

There are few meaningful occupations that can be successfully pursued in a bar unless you work in one.

Mine I think is an exception; I can sit at a table with a ginger beer and a notebook. When I'm not writing I'm probably thinking about writing, or watching.

Quite a lot of material comes that way, walks right up to my table and sits down:

'What do you write'?

I'd looked up from my notebook, she was sitting opposite me. I said: 'Short stories about tall women'.

'Are you going to write about me?'

She had good hands, long slender fingers; the hands of a tall woman. 'Bits of you'.

'Which bits'?

'So far your hands'. I looked at her eyes then. She held my gaze, imprisoned it.

She said: 'You'll write about my eyes too. Can I read it when it is done'.

'Certainly'. I replied, where will I find you'?

'Oh, I'll wait here until you've finished'.

'I may take many years to complete it. I may never complete it'.

'That's ok... I'll wait'.

Joy.

Sometimes when in a dark place someone will come along and light a match. Every once in a while that match will be used to light a candle. Very occasionally that candle will be used to find the switch...

To turn on the sun.

It is dazzling.

Dodi and my girl.

An ex girlfriend once told me she used to be Dodi Al Fayed's lover.

but it is all right, he was such a coke head he couldn't get it up and I never had an orgasm.

Have you ever had an orgasm? I asked.

I don't think so. She replied.

But it doesn't matter because he was always out of it and wouldn't know and I made out like he pleased me for the money.

I asked: Did he know he was your lover?

No! She said... He was always out of it.

and

Now he is dead I can say what I want... What's an orgasm?

Freedom of speech.

I am so tempted.

Dead puppies and the law.

An exhausting day spent with my legal team. I had initially been accused of shooting Bambi's mother but I had an alibi for that one.

Now they have come at me again with the charge of shooting a puppy.
I'm denying it of course although that in itself is hazardous as I WAS present at the shooting of said puppy but did not pull the trigger. I remember blogging about the incident months ago.

My only real defence is to point the finger at someone else but that may lead to accusations of another variety.

Gosh the law is complicated.

An unexpected memory.

An unexpected request from the ex Mrs Nieupjur arrived today. A short text message asking: Do you have a copy of the marriage certificate?

I immediately went to my box of cherished items and there it was, evidence of a memory like a wine stained menu card from a fondly remembered meal.

Surely her request can only mean one thing.

She was a good wife, as wives go. And as good wives go, she went. (apologies to Saki)

A chance encounter with Art.

I happened to walk past the Lisson Gallery this afternoon. Before I had realised where I was I had looked down into the gallery space and assumed that what I was looking at was a Kindergarten that had yet to be tidied up at the end of playtime.

I didn't bother going in.

I'm sure it was very interesting though.

http://www.lissongallery.com/