Second installment of London trip. Bloomsbury

We sent the parcel off to Armande, in America. Maurio had added one
of his 25yr Celebration books that has several photos of himself and
Armande. He sent some pics of them together and a Lucky 7 brochure with
a review of Dot Kill. Maurio is a business man first and foremost and
they were all added as sweeteners to get Armande on side.

We made the man in the post office kiss the parcel for luck. Don't you
just love making a grown man blush?

And then we were off on the tube to one of my favourite places, Camden.
It was the same place but it lacked the magic of Sunday morning Camden.
The day was drizzly and unpleasant. We had a look round the Market but
apart from one or two die-hard stalls the place was derelict and had an
air of neglected abandonment about it. We had only had two hours sleep,
we were beginning to flag, and the spirit of Camden was missing. We
found a cafe and sought solace in a milky coffee. I flatly refuse to
call them latte's even though the word is shorter, more compact and
easer to say than milky coffee, to which the proprietor will always
say, "Do you mean a latte or a cappuccino?"

I wanted to get something funky to wear for the Bloomsbury do but most
of the shops were closed. It was all-out goth, with holes in the most
alarming places, or old grannie stuff from the market. I had brought my
'satsuma' outfit that I wore for Leah's wedding as back up but I hated
it then and I hate it now. It's a long orange skirt with a print orange
top don't know what possessed me to buy the damned thing in the first
place but then, as in Camden Market, things were getting desperate and
I panic bought.

We went to see T and M in the ABCtales office. T makes a good cup of
tea. He had some good news and said that the agent who has my diaries
was going to do her best to make the do that night to talk to me. They
were very busy but still made time to talk to us which I thought was
nice. M gave me a better idea of how to conclude the diaries for book
format, so at least I know what I'm doing now.

We walked back to the market and I found a long black skirt that would
do for the evening, hippie, but not too way-out. More coffee's in the
Camden Kitchen. I love that caf?, really nice atmosphere. We ordered a
brunch (full breakfast) to share. I had two bites and felt sick so that
wasn't very successful. Went for a pace up and down the street to wear
it down and gave up on the idea of eating anything. Martha finished the
lunch. She said that I'm a terrible person to eat with because she ends
up eating twice as much as she normally would. Anything I can't manage,
I tend to push onto her. Marty thinks it's wonderful and I'm going to
have to watch his weight, where as, before my op, we'd share a meal,
now he gets all of it to himself bar a mouthful or two.

The plan was that we'd get back early afternoon and have plenty of time
to pamper a bit and get ready. But, best laid plans and all that,
Martha's dad and his lady came to visit her. They are a lovely couple
and it would have seemed rude to just go off to get ready. Martha
rarely gets to see them and I felt awful for going out that night but
she said they had to get back anyway. It was turned five when we
finally started getting sorted for the evening. We were meeting in the
pub at six. I had a five minute shower, flung on my clothes and make-up
and felt like crap. I had no time to cleanse my skin properly, or do my
nails, or even do my hair but I don't suppose there'd have been much
difference if I had. We dashed for the tube and made the pub on
time.

G was already in there, R arrived a little later and T sometime after
that. There was a mix up with the tickets. I could remember reading on
the boards that pre ordered tickets had to be picked up, from the
Bloomsbury, by seven. The performance was to start at seven thirty. I
also wanted to get there early because I was hoping that L (the agent)
might have arrived and that I'd get to speak to her.

For some reason G's ticket read 8.00 start, we had already agreed that
we'd all share a taxi and it would have felt rude getting up and
leaving. We were very late for the show.

It was good, not brilliant but good. R and the ABC team had made a huge
effort to make it a success but the turn out was poor. I think that's a
shame. I was exhausted by this time and probably not in the best frame
of mind for it but I did find some of the readings a bit boring. I'm
not naming names because that would be unfair. My mind kept wandering
and I had to keep forcing myself back to what the speakers were
saying.

The star of the show was John Hegely. He is a real performer. I think
he should record his, Luton Bungalow, song if he hasn't already. It's
one of those irritatingly annoying songs that flatly refuses to leave
you alone and, as a novelty record, would probably join the birdie song
and Mr Blobby, by going to number one in the charts. It was fantastic.
His performance, it wasn't a reading, was full of energy and an
excellent show finisher.

There was supposed to be a late bar, but it shut just after the show
finished. I didn't mind because I wanted to get to bed anyway, the mind
as willing but the spirit was weak, as for the body, that was just
plain knackered!

I think for future events like this, it would be good if people had
name tags of some sort. I didn't know who anyone was and several
people, Martha and I included, just seemed to stand around aimlessly.
Again, I probably wasn't in the best frame of mind for socialising and
didn't make much of an effort to mingle myself.

I was still hoping to talk to L but she hadn't managed to get away.
Never mind, I'm back on 7th August and hopefully we can arrange
something for then. T was busy talking to people and we just sort of
stood around like a pair of spare parts waiting to be able to speak to
him. It was a good night with some fantastic readers (and some that I
didn't reckon much to) but it seemed to lack the intimacy and
friendliness of the last event I attended at, The extra Time.

R was lovely, I enjoyed sharing a fag break with him. Apparently love
has mellowed him, shame I like the old R, never a dull moment and all
that. S didn't recognise me and I enjoyed keeping him guessing. I
wouldn't have thought losing a bit of weight and having my hair cut
would make that much difference. He said I look a lot better, which
showed that at least he remembered me. Thanks darling, you made me feel
good. J was great, it was good to meet her at last. I must write to her
about the book she wanted for S. F was a star and it was lovely to see
her so happy with her man. T is a love, but then T is always a love,
nothing new there. M was charming, and also makes a good cuppa.
It was a good night but I wish I'd been more up for it. Moral of the
story, get some sleep before one of these things next time.

We hadn't eaten and wanted to stop off somewhere for a snack and a
coffee. We played with the idea of going down to the restaurant but we
were both too knackered. We couldn't find anywhere open and were too
rattie to go out of our way to find somewhere so we bought take-a-way
coffee and a burger each from the MacDonald's in Euston Station and sat
on the awful plastic chairs in the terminus. I was cold, tired and felt
pretty crap. One bite of the burger made me feel sick and I felt too
ill to drink my coffee. Bed was looking good, but it was so far away.
For two pins I'd have curled up on the chair and gone to sleep. We went
a couple of stops too far on the tube. Martha was panicking that the
tubes would be stopping and that we'd be stranded. I was amazed, I
thought they ran all night.

We were praying that when we to back to the flat, Maurio wouldn't be
entertaining guests and that we could get straight to bed but it was
another late night. When we finally got to bed, we hoped to get a good
sleep and wake up re-charged and raring to go the next day, Thursday
was for ?shopping and sightseeing.