Ra Party Joe!

Saturday 4:08 p.m.
"I was still always falling down during this time, and I would always say, before falling, 'I'm about to fall down', and nobody, almost nobody, ever caught me." Tennessee Williams. The Wall.

This is what happens when a normally shy and reticent fellow like myself is forced to go out and emanate as a writer. I bloody hate that! I hate talking about writing, about becoming a writer, about being a writer, about writings done in the past, or writings half done just now. And all that in the company of a lot of people you don't know and who, quite rightly, should know better than to give a damn. If there's any more book launches for writers connected with the secret agent in Edinburgh or Glasgow, I'll go if I'm asked (hopefully, they'll know better now!), but that's it.

Unless, of course, there is free beer!

The wish that it be made known that 'I was the author' is the thought of a man not yet adult. The Dhammapada. The Wall.

This evening, on the other hand, I'll be going to a soiree where almost everyone there will have been known to me for well over thirty years, well before I even started trying to write. I've known these people for so long I don't even have to talk to them. The only young people there will be progeny, and they might even offer me a sample of some decent drugs. Really looking forward to that!

Spent the afternoon mainly meditating up the allotment. We have a big bush of red lupins and one of blue. There will be millions of strawberries and gooseberries this year. The whole allotment is completely green, mostly from weeds. My money is on the weeds!