The awards themselves were what you’d expect with lots of loud people, lots of smoke and lots of drunkenness. I arrived at 10pm, got myself a £9 hotel bar vodka and hid at the back. Despite smelling of fish and chips, and being me, I managed to get through the trauma of having to meet lots of drunken new people. I did this by disarming new comers immediately. I chucked my pre-planned stock phrase “do I look like a cheap hooker?” at em (the outfit, short pants, high shoes). I coped very well until I spied He Who Cannot Be Named and immediately felt like leaving, which I did. I’m not going into it on the World Wide Web like but suffice to say that there were tears at bedtime. Still on the upside the shark’s in the area and I definitely heard a wood pecker in the park during my early morning jog on Thursday.
What with the shark being about I’ve HAD TO go to some gigs, and for old time’s sake I accompanied her, the cat and their gang to Commuter Jazz at the QEH. There were lots of new faces with limp hand shakes but also some lovely familiar faces too, including Mr T, Mr H, Terry Edwards and solobasssteve. I saw the Beardless One, although only briefly as he was leisurely rushing home to a sick wife and Lady Jane who I didn’t get to talk to as every time I looked up at her, she was with strangers and what with the pain of standing for 3 hours in heels (not the new ones), I couldn’t cope with any more discomfort. Jimbob, it was really too bad of you not to be there.
Art class went like a dream. Although the work is not ready to be shown here yet, it was briefly exhibited in the Foyer of the National Theatre today when myself, catster and the shark went along to see Steve and Theo (who does not think I’m scary) play. It was all lovely apart from the bus driver from hell on the way home. Naturally I did not let him get away with it without a few choice certificate 18 words of my own.
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