You are Going Back, Back in Time

Have you ever noticed, when you make a public statement about yourself, if ceases to be true hours after you've made it?

I've actually spent most of this daytime awake, and indeed alert. And may even sleep soundly in the dark tonight.

H says he's "alive but very busy". Thursday I'm taking him out for a "goodbye to this poxy little town" treat, as he's moving away on Saturday. Movie and/or meal, depending on what he feels like at the time. I shall try not to be too clingy on this, the final time it's quick and easy to meet up.
Before that, tonight (Tuesday) Mark S will again be vaguely depressed but evasive as to why, with me on a beach. Will he want sex this time, I wonder? Well, if he does that's easy, and if he doesn't it's even easier.

Wednesday involves continuing to pester the SWP apparatus about getting a speaker for the forum on the 24th. Then producing and delivering leaflets about it. And recording Anna's singing in the evening.

Friday is "set up Ebay account for Simon M and his brother, and get paid in their wonderfully cooked food" day.
Cable TV is especially good for one thing. Reintroducing thirtysomething men like me to their childhoods. From The Magic Roundabout and Dangermouse to The Triffids and Blake's 7. Nostalgia is transient, but appreciation of surprisingly good TV isn't.

UKTV Drama is showing a programme I heard about a lot but never saw - Shoestring, persistantly referred to as Bootlace when I was about 12. A British take on the American gumshoe detective, updated (to the late 70s) with moustaches and deglamourised grime.

I hope someday soon a channel will have the nerve to show Callan.

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