Categories
Love

Good Day

I woke up overwhelmed with resentment.  Furious.  I hate that.  Starting the day feeling angry.  But as it turned out the day got a whole lot better.

It started like this:

Oh Fuck!  Why did I do it?  Why did I respond to his advances?  Why did I give up my sexual sobriety for him?  Why did I convince myself that he could be the one?

I woke up not wanting to hurt myself but wanting to hurt him.

My friend Sarah is staying here so I managed not to look at pornography last night, obviously I don’t isolate when people are around.  So I don’t let those dark thoughts get the better of me.

Then I wrote a fuming email to Him.

After half an hour he wrote back and it was obvious that I had petrified the poor boy with my vicious note so after a lengthy and what turned out to be a very positive and unusually healthy email exchange it seems that we can now move forward as friends.  Just friends-even though we still both care very much and, rather amazingly, fancy the hell out of each other.

I had a long conversation with my dear friend J about the nature of love and why it inspires such extreme emotions in me.  All family of origin stuff.  When I start to get that crazy feeling my entire body feels like it is going to reject every organ in my body.   I heard the words ‘i love you’ in such appalling ways-whispered late in the night.  It should come as no surprise that I have such problems with it.

It was just the kind of conversation that aids recovery.

I finally understood that if I had self esteem (something at which I used to sneer at the mere mention) and could truly love who I am then I would never let unhealthy people into my life. I act as if I have no choice. I have plenty of choice.  And what of past loves?  I have operated an open door policy for the vulnerable and the damaged, to assure yourself a place in my lovers hall of fame tell me you are straight then tell me that you love me and watch me drown in self doubt.

After the email exchange with Him and the life affirming conversation with J the day just got better and better.

Throw a sweet letter from Jennie K into the mix,  Anna coming to the house and shooting a spoof commercial for Lesbian Menopause Treatment that had us rolling around the sitting room laughing until we cried, tea with Joe on Cahuenga and hey presto we have a jolly nice day.  You see?  If I had killed myself I would be killing the wrong guy.

I need to get my act together.  I have wasted too much time this past few months on YOU.  Now we are friends-as we should have always been.   See..it wasn’t too hard was it?

All I have to do now is write my book, finish my film and I might not be a washed up old queen tied to the trauma of ‘i love you’.

Let’s see if I can be loved this year.  Allow myself to be loved.  Let the words be heard.   Bring it on.

Categories
Gay Rant

The Storm Passes

The storm is well and truly passing.  The stack of unopened mail on my dining room table can be opened.  The Malibu house is now rented for the time that we were going to be there.  The bathroom floor can be mopped.  The thick LA dust over the marble side tables can be washed away.

I can now turn my attention to Kristian once again.  So many beautiful tributes to him on the internet.  I like that they have recast him as a film director who also made TV.  He would be liked to remembered like that.  I have not yet scanned the pictures of Kristian and I.   They are very sweet.

I will bake another walnut and banana cake in his honor.

I have a few really important decisions to make which may very well mean that I have to go home, my tail between my legs.  Home to London.   I don’t feel bad about that.  I have had a total blast in LA and as this blog is proof life seldom gets boring.

There was a time before I met Richard, Jamie, Joe, Him, Matt-a moment before we met and that moment has to be reclaimed.  Before the note arrives, the stare across the busy club, the man at the top of the ladder, (I can’t remember how I met Jamie) the men who I have been most moved by.  I showed Him pictures of Matty and could not remember what it was to love Matty.   I can just remember driving in the pea green sports car down the M2 motorway to Whitstable and wondering if I could let him go without damaging him.  Like letting a fish go after you have caught it, removing the hook from its delicate mouth and setting it free.

I still remember Richard of course.  Richard Green,  the great love of my life.   Twenty five years ago he was at the top of a ladder outside the Oyster Company in Whitstable.  He was wearing tight white shorts and for five exquisite years we explored the world.  Tempestuous, glorious years.  Of course I never slept with him.  Even my mother knew that I loved him and was disappointed for me when he would flirt with girls in front of me.

He would drag girls into the bushes at country dances and return with stains all over his dinner jacket!

Sometimes I would arrive back at my darling cottage and he would be asleep on the sofa.  A window broken.  I didn’t care.

You know I have 50 intimate pictures of Him and Matty and  Jamie but I don’t have one picture of Richard Green.  Not one.  He is middle-aged now-like me-older and fat and by all accounts a miserable bastard.  But if we walked in through that door right now I know that we would begin where we left off.  We would have a huge amount to say and do.  He was utterly fascinated by the world and I was his willing side kick.  He was a perfect love because I had no interest in sex or relationships with other men-I had him and he was enough.  He was enough.

Isn’t it funny that I would include Him in the list of those who meant most to me.  I think that might change as time passes.  I would never have been able to trust him.  The next man he meets will not know his story will trust him and love him.

It is a perfect spring day in LA.  I am seeing Michelle later and hanging with Frank.  I like Frank.  Not like that!  Not so soon after the last fiasco.   Now, it’s Runyon time with the little dog.

Categories
Death Gay Love

Normal People

Dinner with Anna in Los Feliz.  We discussed how focused one has to be to make a film… how determined.  More importantly… we both really have to want to make film.   Neither of us are motivated by studio films.

I am in perhaps the most ideal position ever to make another film yet without a script that I really believe in what’s the point?

The same goes for my book.  I don’t want to write it.  I was writing it with him and now he has gone so my interest has burned off like the marine layer over the Malibu Mountains.   Oh fuck.

The problem with the last script?  It is really two films crammed into one… like Siamese twins I have to very carefully separate them.  This requires me being meticulous and I can’t summon the interest.   Where did all the energy come from before?  How did I muster the enthusiasm?

I have lost my enthusiasm for film, for love, for life.

I have been asking normal people about falling in love.

It seems that most people believe that they are worth loving.  I have never felt like I was worth loving.

Tonight I saw a gay couple leaving the restaurant.  One of them was much older than his boyfriend.  My heart sank.  They looked so happy.  Both of them probably believed that they worth loving.  They didn’t come from a damaged place, they hadn’t had their childhood ripped apart by shame, violence, lies, resentment.  I hope not.  I really do.

I wouldn’t wish my early years on my worst enemy.

I wanted to kill myself as soon as I understood that it was possible.  I tried when I was 12, then again when I was 17 and finally gave into the interminably slow suicide that alcohol and drugs offer the committed self hater.

I have a few amends to make in NYC.  To those I sidelined when I met him.   I did a terrible thing.  We both cheated… it wasn’t just him.   I can make a thousand excuses but I am sick of making excuses.

At dinner (crispy crusted pizza) Anna and I discussed pornography.

In search of that authentic moment in the narrative.  Isn’t that why so many people go to such dark places on the internet?  Looking for a moment that is indisputably real?

How could any man ever measure up to what I see there?  Whilst love makes a fool of me I seek solace in pornography.  I prayed again tonight for some sort of deliverance from the obsession.

Send me somebody kind I say-but would I know how to let them love me?

Oh, I have been loved so much-so often.  So many men.  Yet, until recently, I thought that anyone who loved me was a fool.  If I couldn’t love me how could anyone else?  So I thought again about the long sleep-longer than the one I have been awake for.

Down the dark corridor.

Categories
Gay Rant

Head Ache

Listening to Joni Mitchell.

I miss thinking about a future that includes someone.  I am so sick of facing every trial on my own.

If I had to write a description of a perfect man he would have almost fitted the bill.  Almost.   A little taller maybe, ten years older, not just out of a long relationship.

He was kind.   He wanted me.   He missed her.  He was brave.

Thank you-all of you.   You have all been so kind.   The kind words, the suggestions, the solution.  I tried explaining to him how important this blog is to me.   Not only do I get validation and feed back but I get to write my most troubling thoughts and when written down they vanish-as if by magic.

So, it turned out to be a strangely productive day.    I had to file a police report-the policeman had seen me on the sex rehab show.   I spent a little time up at the house making sure that the tenants are ok.   I saw two friends for lunch and I have a conference call regarding my app at 3pm.  God knows what will happen next.  It’s really not in my hands.

Michelle and Frank for coffee at the café on the corner.  Ate lemon bunt cake.

Of course I think about him.  He flitters like a moth through my head all the time.  I want the best for him-the best does not include me.  He has been central to my thoughts for the past few months.  He will not simply vanish.  I know that he will have time and space to think about his own grief.  The end of his long relationship and start afresh.

I do feel sorry for him.

Gay men have hugely intense relationships and an entire lifetime of emotion is often squeezed into just a few weeks.   He and I were no exception.

We gays are well aware of this phenomenon, most of us make morbid jokes about ‘gay years’-like dog years, and say “They were together for a year which is like a decade in gay years…”

Sadly, he was not the great love.  The truth is: if we had lived in the same city we would have scarcely lasted a month.  If I had met him as an out gay man I would have scarcely noticed him at all.

Fuck.  I need moth balls.

Off to have dinner now with Jamie and Anna.  They are waiting at a table on the sidewalk this balmy St Patrick’s day.  I am bleeding from the war.

Kristian will be buried this Sunday in Dorset.

Categories
Gay

Must not..

Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more. Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more. Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more. Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebiok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.

So, with this mantra playing in my head I get my life back.  make important calls.  make life saving decisions.  have a relationship with God.  I have been living in the dark.  where I wither and die.  thankgod this is over.

Categories
Gay Hollywood Love

Help Me

I wore a Helmet Lang jacket this evening that I have not worn for years.  It felt great.  I trotted off for dinner with my friend Dom and his sweet friends.

I was late.  As I walked over I ended up on the telephone with you know who.   I needed to break things off, or rather recalibrate my relationship with my dear New York friend.    Break things was what I tried not to do; he is already a broken man.   I failed.  I was heavy handed and abrupt.   In spite of my best intentions the seething resentment and obsession and mad thoughts spewed out of me because I couldn’t hold them inside for one minute longer.

The day ended thus.  I felt free for the first time in weeks.

The day began very badly.

This morning, after the 10-second earthquake, I stood naked in the middle of my sitting room sobbing like a baby because all I could think about was him and all I wanted to be rid of was the thought of him.  Our friendship has been so fucking overwhelming-watching him fall apart, pick himself up and be there for him without ever thinking what was best for me.

My fantasy was that a man twenty years younger than me who I met for the first time three short months ago would fall in love, move to LA and get a job in the film industry.  How INSANE is that?

I prayed, “Send me somebody who’s strong and somewhat sincere.”

The good news is that tonight, after our chat, I am feeling a little more like myself.  I have come clean with those I love and admit that I have been looking at pornography rabidly for the past week-as of old-so intense was the feeling.

Whenever I am feeling vulnerable I resort to my old friend-pornography.

Tomorrow I will try for one day of abstinence.  I will try to get through the night without looking at that heaving pile of stinking pink flesh claiming me with so many muscular arms.   For the past week I have stuffed my feelings with porn, cigarettes and food.

My flat is dirty, my clothes strewn over the floor.

This is a lesson in unmanageability, I am powerless over…well, fill in the fucking blank.

You see, I thought that I was falling in love but I was just held hostage by intensity.

The past three months have been wrought with emotion-watching someone I deeply care about tear himself and his life to pieces and being judged for doing so by people who fail to understand his predicament.

The point is-his problem is not my problem and I foolishly shouldered the entire burden of his life.

I have choices yet my choices diminish the moment I get obsessed-a hideous chain reaction then unfolds before me:  Obsession, resentment, anger.  When the pain becomes too much to bare, when I finally get angry enough to reclaim who I really am, then I feel shame for getting viciously angry-then remorseful for how I treated those I love.

My dearest friend I want to thank you for the privilege of watching you be brave.  For demonstrating how the truth can set you free.  Now, fly like a bird my darling.  Soar as high as your tiny wings will carry you.  Never settle for second best.  Don’t give yourself away to fools or liars.   From this moment on always tell the truth. Never tell people what you think they want to hear.  Be true to yourself.

Life is never without lessons to learn and I have learned a great deal during these three amazing months.

You know, my dear, we have our finest days to come but probably as great friends and not as fuck buddies.

And so to bed.  I am so tired.  So bloody tired.  I may even sleep tonight.  Let’s hope so shall we?

 

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Categories
Gay Rant

Blog Comments

I want to make a few things clear about my comment mediation.  Firstly, I want to say thank you to every one of you who take the time to comment on my blog-some of you very generously.  I learn a great deal from the comments and if I ever have any sort of problem I can count on my readers to provide solution.

I don’t publish every comment.

I don’t publish comments that are racist, homophobic or could cause distress to others.  I often publish comments that are critical of me and in the interest of fairness I will continue to do so.

This morning I received a comment tagged to the blog FULL DISCLOSURE (March 13th) that went something like this:

“You were not with a married man. You were with a shithead named Jake Bauman who should have broke it off with his girlfriend of 8 years after you fucked him (or attempted but could not?) in 2007. Stop screening your posts. Coward.

Obviously I have removed my friend’s name for the sake of the accused.

Firstly, this was not the only email that I received claiming that the married man referred to in FULL DISCLOSURE was known to the reader.  I received three totally separate claims about the man.  In all instances they were wrong.

Dear readers you know me well enough that if I wanted you to know that I had been with a married man I would not dress it up in the third person-I would tell you directly and honestly.  I have no secrets with any of you.  None.

Remember too that I commit to no longer living in Shame, Resentment or Fear but when they beset me I tell you-my readers.

Contrary to the rather badly written comment I like to think of myself as very brave indeed!  In my opinion cowardly people make anonymous accusations – like me having slept with some girl’s bf in 2007.   I did not.  I would gladly admit it if I had.  I am rather too eager to admit any indiscretion.

Regarding the life he lead before January I really don’t have an opinion about his behavior.

Whilst being the other in a break up is often the least sympathized role-shit happens.  I have no idea if the man I have started to befriend is going to develop into anything substantial-one day at a time is my philosophy.   (I rather think that I am merely the conduit for the rest of his gay life.)  For the time being we are having a nice time and it is none of my concern who he has left behind him.  Relationships end, and one might consider that had he not heeded my warning and married his girlfriend they would be in a much worse state than they are now several years down the line.

There is often so much unnecessary recrimination when a relationship ends.   I suggest that we own the pain, deal with the grief, learn from our mistakes and move on.

One of the great lessons of my life has been this:  EVERYTHING I JUDGE I WALK THOUGH.  Everything I judge I walk though.  Whilst I may have opinions about the behavior of others if I stand in judgment I am prone to make the same mistakes as those I have judged.   Those who seem so eager to judge my friend not only lack compassion but will eventually make the same sort of mistakes.  It is very easy to anonymously call a man a shit head or a coward and yet by doing so anonymously one may be thought of as cowardly and shit headed?  What do my readers think?

Lastly, the friend who told his wife of 20 years the truth-she has gone into rehab to deal with the trauma.

Sad, but there you go.

Categories
Rant

Balls

The pictures published this morning are part of my photographic essay commissioned by The Sydney Morning Herald in 2004 celebrating the Condoblin Batchelors and Spinsters Ball held annually in the depths of New South Wales.

B & S Balls are thrown to introduce the youth of rural Australia who live many hours from each other in the arid outback.

The Ball is actually a huge drunken brawl and as a sober man I was amazed by two things:  firstly how much alcohol was consumed and secondly how little violence there was.

I publish it to remind myself just how many things I have achieved.

The darkest part of the day is ironically the morning when I seem to forget just how damned capable I am.  Need to calm down.  Still experiencing waves of depression.  Still at the mercy of my mad head.  Mad head, thankfully not bed head-my hair is now cropped once again.  However, when buzzed my head get recognized more than when I have long hair.

The dog is waiting to go to Runyon, waiting patiently at my feet whilst I type this.   I am nearly out of the doldrums.  I can feel myself emerging.  Why did I get sober?  Why did  I go into therapy?  Peace of mind.  Not piece of mind-one of my mothers favorite expressions.  ‘I’ll give him a piece of my mind.’ she would say.

The mantra for this week is BE PRESENT.

I remember getting up each day and feeling like there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do.

Added to all the other problems I am utterly home sick.  Desperate to get back to my Island Jewel.  Held here by all sorts of stuff that needs dealing with.  The house, the garden, the book, the app, the art sale, what the fuck?

All I need to do is book an Air France flight to Paris and vanish but I am trying to be a good man.  Trying to be the sort of guy who can wrestle from his life some sort of sobriety and ultimately some honor.

Where in the world could I go if I wanted to start again?  I still love Memphis.  I loved it.  Who would I be when I got there?

What demons would I bring along with me?

Instead of running away I need to remember what I am capable of and invest time and energy in my work.   Recently Obama opined that ‘change is hard.’ and I was appalled by his admission because I rarely admit that it’s the goddamned fucking truth don’t ya think?.

Categories
Gay Queer Rant

FULL DISCLOSURE


I was with a man last week, a friend of mine.  Married with two kids, good job, comfortable life.  The only fly in the ointment being his insatiable desire for other men.

He had always known that he was gay but fell in love with a beautiful woman.  He still loves her, loves his children and his comfortable life.  When I met him he was in pieces because he was about to tell his wife the truth about his other life.  The life he could no longer contain, compartmentalize.

You know, whether it is another man or another woman the deceit is just the same.  However, his wife, the woman he had been with for twenty years utterly trusted and loved him.  She described him as the center of her world.  Now, after therapy, he had decided to tell her the truth.

You know I am in two minds about FULL DISCLOSURE.  Depending on how it is handled it can be a great thing.  The truth, as we all know, tends to set you free-but at what price for the wife?  For the children?

Is it possible to love and cherish a woman yet have a secret gay life?  I have written on these pages that I believe that it is.  That men think differently about monogamy than women.  Judging by just how broken the man is he really loves his wife and finds his gay life unexplainable.

Of course we do not live in the 1950’s when society was less tolerant of homosexuality but we must not underestimate two things:  firstly, the desire for a regular life of marriage and children with a woman and secondly that the love that develops between a man and a woman regardless of orientation is still real.

The gay lifestyle is not exactly my cup of tea, the bars and clubs, the endless hooking up-found in urban gay life.  Gay men don’t do a very good job of advertising the better part of our lives.  Anyhow that’s another story.

I have loved women during my life and whilst I loved them I was not hankering after men.  The emotional commitment that I had was just as valid as that that I had with men.

Having sex with a man is far easier than telling a man ‘I love you’.

Sexuality and relationships are complicated and whilst some relationships do not fit the norm we should not discount the love that exists there.

My friend desperately loves his wife and children, their lives together have been rich and varied.  Has he been more dishonest than a man who cheated on his wife with other woman?

Can a man still love his wife and have sexual relations with other men?  My friend tells me that he can and does.  Just like Darwin who believed both in God and evolution.  When asked how this was possible to believe in God and his theory of evolution he replied ‘because I do’.

I rather like the Victorian model where gay men married and had children and had affairs with men on the side.  This may not suit the out and prouds or the uber hetero but may suit some people an the middle of the Kinsey spectrum.  We are not all one thing or the other until we say we are.  We are not gay until we say we are.  When we say that we love someone why should this not be believed just because our sexuality is more complicated or in the words of Derek Jarman less ‘common’.

I have loved many women and whilst I have always been honest about my interest in men they seemed to not care as long as they were or felt loved.  Women have a huge capacity for love, for tolerance and forgiveness.

Categories
Dogs Gay Hollywood Malibu

Day of Wonder

Interesting day yesterday-after a good twenty four hours of stinking thinking-God delivered to me an old fashioned day of wonder.   Began in Hollywood drinking Turkish coffee.  My mood dramatically shifted from the day before when I felt so utterly wretched.  I could have climbed Runyon but didn’t.   I could have bought a pack of cigarettes but didn’t.

Peter arrived and took 20 works of art and furniture for sale and you know what?  So crowded with stuff is this apartment that as quickly as he removed things I hung stored paintings in their place.   After he left I felt relieved that so much had gone-all part of my less is more project.  I can now walk all the way around my bed!  My bedroom was crammed with too many things.  As well as a queen sized bed there was a huge Jasper Morrison sofa stuffed in there.  Frankly, I hadn’t really liked most of the sold work.  I bought it for all the wrong reasons.  Things were mostly collected to show off my great knowledge of contemporary art.   Yeah right.

Jenny A not Jennie K (we are still avoiding each other) called me from Solar de Cauenga on the corner of Cauenga and Franklin to drink more coffee.  The little dog and I sauntered down Franklin to see her.  The weather has been spectacular, warm and spring like.  Daffodils sprouting up all over the place, the trees budding, the birds singing, the air is fresh and clean after all the glorious rain.

I hadn’t seen Jenny A for a couple of years-not since I stayed in her beautiful home in Todos Santos.  You can stay there too if you visit her WEB SITE it’s now THE most perfect hotel.  Anyway, we hadn’t spoken since I climbed onto that dusty Mexican bus-but it was only a matter of time before we did.   We are both incredibly fractious and proud so when we spend time with each other have tended toward the dramatic.  Anyway, that was then and this is now:  two calm, evolved human beings having a quiet latte together in a noisy café.    She looks wonderful.

A young filmmaker came visiting after I returned form my time with Jenny.  Josh, a Persian Jew looking for an internship somewhere.   Oh God!  He sat there and I just couldn’t wait for him to leave.  No life, no experience, no opinions, no point of view-no heroes!  How could he ever expect to be a filmmaker?   He told me that he wanted to ‘change film making’ yet, as usual, when you ask who his favorite filmmakers were he was hard pressed to tell me.  Like so many wannabe directors he was just a kid who liked movies, the difference being that this kid was raised in LA yet knew nothing about the city in which he was raised nor the industry that he says he wants to be part of-in fact he had no interests in anything apart from soccer and his girlfriend.  I told him I could not help him and he left.  It was like meeting a 40 something married guy.   Do any of these kids have heroes?  What happened to boys having heroes?  I had all sorts of heroes when I was a boy.

I dashed to my car and headed to Malibu.

When I arrived Patrick the gardener was hanging around doing I don’t know what but it was nice to see him.  I cleaned the house, laid a couple of rugs that had been sitting around in H’wood and then decided to go to Nina Hagen’s listening party at the recording studio next door.

Nina Hagen must have used the word Jesus at least 20 times to describe her new life as a Born Again Christian-she has renounced Buddhism.    She told me that Jesus was guiding her, that Jesus was showing her the way etc etc.  With flowers in her trademark two-ponytail hairstyle this slight mother of two is haggard but vibrant.  She avoids looking directly into ones face.   I ate a delicious cream puff.  However, I didn’t stick around to listen to the album, as I was worried that the constant references to Jesus would make me laugh out loud.

At 3pm I met Stephen Fry at the Peninsular Hotel.  Bumped into Donall McCusker who had worked on AKA but is now one of the producers of The Hurt Locker.  Stephen and I ate scones and silly finger sandwiches and the staff made a terrible fuss about the little dog not being allowed-which we ignored.    Stephen is writing the second part of his autobiography.   Since my therapy I have walked into most situations free of shame and I am glad to report that today was no exception.  I am usually so ashamed of my lack of formal education, my slight career, my meager achievements that sitting before this intellectual giant can shrivel any attempt I may have at a passable attempt at being anything other than a good natured baboon.   Today I just felt like a man with nothing to prove-just enjoying him and his extraordinariness.  In fact, I felt so comfortable I told him my great app idea, which he really liked.

As we left I introduced Stephen to Donall who was sitting with a group of execs-Donall called later to say that as Stephen and I walked away he was excited to have met Stephen Fry but his guests were more excited to know if I was really me (Duncan Roy).  Funny eh?  The power of reality TV.  SF drove away in his mini.

Met John and Jamie at Phyllis Morris for more diet coke and discussed my previous days misery.  They gave me three yards of heavy oyster colored upholstery silk from Osborn and Little to recover the chair JB didn’t buy.

Dinner with Chrissie Isley and Michelle Collins amongst others.   We ate delicious chicken, asparagus and green beans.  Strawberries and real whipped cream-Hungarian chocolate with pear.  Our hosts had vegetables growing in tiny garden.  Nearly fell asleep at the table even though conversation was good, Michelle very funny.  We discussed Lulu, Soho House, Obama and David Cameron-apparently he isn’t going to win the general election.

Brought home fresh bananas, lemons and tangerines from my trees.

No dreams.

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