Early childhood.

I was taken back to my early childhood today.

An accidental journey brought about by getting shampoo in my eye; I was immediately transported back to my 2 year old self having his hair washed by his mother; shampoo always got in my eyes back then (there was no baby shampoo either) and as far as I was concerned it was attempted murder. Boy did I wail.

'Don't be a baby'. She'd scold.

'But I am a fucking baby!'

And if I knew then what I know now I would have stayed a baby.

Oh, and love.

Imagine falling in love while your child dies

How far will the elastic band stretch?

I have watched a junkie mother

Leave a dying child

In order to find a fix

Beautiful world

We didn't make it

We just have to find a way to live in it.

Sometimes that takes death and drugs. Oh, and love.

Heads do know best!

Angel: Jimmy Hendrix

I cannot remember where I nicked the Image from... I'd love to give a credit.

Swings and roundabouts.

A long day. what should have been a splendid day spent doing mundane things well and reaping the benefits of that. Followed by exciting news from Tristan which must be put on hold because it was followed by news of a friend suddenly in intensive care in Cannes.

The joy of ageing and all it's benefits is tempered by the regular signs of ageing, not so much in myself (I am so old I have given up looking or worrying) but in my friends and peers.

I wish I had a group portrait of everyone I know in my attic.

Royal wedding, Filmstars, Art and Landrovers.

A long day...

Lunch with a very reliable source of Royal stuff who assures me that there will not be a wedding this year.

drinks this evening with an exciting young film actress; Jaala Pickering. who has just finished shooting in India and will eventually be gracing our screens in 'Dam 999'. I'll review it when it is released.

Then on to the Apart Gallery 10th anniversary show... All the usual Notting Hill faces... Like being in the pub but with paintings on the wall. If I see another 'artwork' painted on an old car bonnet (hood for my American readers) I will go mad. What the fuck is wrong with canvas?

Finally a nightcap at the Cow and the delightful surprise of bumping in to a Land Rover driver from heaven.

Not all angels have wings and not all winged things are angels.

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'.