Another evening of recording Paul T's guitar, eating his food, and listening to his endless highbrow stream-of-conciousness lecture. The guitar is brilliantly played, the food is imaginative and well prepared, and the lecture is always informative. It's just the man himself who's a self-obsessed, pompous and overbearing arsehole.
About a year ago I finally realised he doesn't actually care about anyone else. Friends are just an audiance for his music, his wit, and his theorising.
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John M is holidaying in north Wales, leaving Max at home to write his plays, plan performances, network with theatrical types and politicos, and take care of the house. Or rather, get massively stoned in his room.
It looks like depression to me, but there's nothing I can do.
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This morning (Tuesday), my lateral-exercise thigh-burning fat-trainer device should arrive.
In the afternoon, I'm trying to reconnect Simon M's computer to the internet. Which probably means spending 90 minutes on the phone to NTL.
Then he's feeding me lunch. I seem to spend my life fixing/using computers, and being fed in return.
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Probably another two weeks before I get my own computer and net connection back. Trying to write songs and come up with musical ideas in the meantime. Never been any good at waiting. I wanna be a K Twin.
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