Waking up this morning was pretty difficult. It always is on a Monday morning. I walked down the Archway Road in milky sunlight to Holloway Road to sign on. It strikes me as very odd that I need to walk that far. What if I were elderly or had a broken leg? Would the authorities offer to pay for my bus journey every two weeks? I’ve always maintained that the Highgate job centre is a mile and a half away from Highgate because the residents refused to allow there to be a gathering of riff-raff in their midst. I assume that they assume that the people who don’t work in Highgate are doing so because they don’t need to. Judging by the people I sit with every day in the cafe, they might be right.
I staggered my way back up Highgate Hill, my heavy computer bag strapped to my shoulder. At one point I thought I was going to pass out. I’m sure it will do me good. I dreamt last night that I’d filmed myself for a documentary talking about my eating disorders. For some reason, I’d decided to do the whole “interview” underneath a blanket, with the camera under there with me, and a torch for lighting. I’d filmed myself with a particularly unflattering angle from below. When I watched the footage back, I looked like the fat tenor in the Go Compare adverts. It looked like I was wearing some form of prosthetic. My double chin went from ear to ear.
More wealthy children vomiting incredibly loud, screamy conversation all over the cafe this afternoon. At one stage I wanted to scream myself. It's incredible the effect that lots of girls shouting can have on one's emotions.
Aside from all this, I've been very sad today for two reasons; firstly because my dear friend, Ted’s Grannie, Nora, died yesterday at the ripe old age of 99. I remember her being at all the concerts we played at as children and staying in her house near Manchester as a sixth former. I'm also sad because Mike Edwards, the ‘cellist, and founder member of the great Electric Light Orchestra also died over the weekend. Edwards was a true showman, who I’m told used to have an exploding ‘cello and sometimes played with a grapefruit, which I'd loved to have seen. Rather horrifically, his van was crushed by an enormous rolling bale of hay, which seems almost too comic to be true. He will be sadly missed.
It was a bitty day for Pepys 350 years ago. He spent much of his time gossiping, mostly about money, and the rest of the day organising provisions for the fleet of ships waiting in the Downs. In the evening, he dined on a joint of meat, before organising the remainder of his books to be sent from Montagu’s to his new house at the Navy Office.