Wednesday, 19 January 2011

A razor to my eyebrows

Today started rather badly. As I walked down Southwood Lane towards the tube, I got hit in the face by a careless street cleaner's broom. When I stopped to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, he got all aggressive on me! A 'sorry' would have done...

I arrived at the tube to find it closed due to some kind of fire scare and what seemed like an never-ending list of other shoddy LU excuses.

I took the bus into town to meet a possible agent. The appointment didn't go as well as I'd hoped, primarily because the lady said it was almost impossible for an agent to find a composer a job, which made me question why I might want to sign with one! It was all a bit depressing, really, so I had my hair cut. Without consulting me, the barber took a razor to my eyebrows, which felt both masterful and strange, but probably just as well, as they were starting to look like a bag of wool. 

I came home and had to wait around for a strange little man to come and fix our tumble drier. Sadly, it took him about an hour to find our house, despite my repeatedly giving him directions over the phone. During many of our conversations, he was literally just around the corner but, despite my telling him to stay on the phone, so that I could talk him in, he repeatedly told me he didn't need my help and hung up. Five minutes later we'd be back to square one. I'd call him, ask where he was, and he'd be in the vicinity, yet somewhere even more obscure. At one point he went into the pet shop and asked them where their tumble drier was!  The upshot of his finally arriving was my being charged a £25 call-out charge and our tumble drier being condemned beyond all hope. Finally!

I'm now at the Landor Theatre in  Clapham watching two Americans performing a cabaret. They are highly talented, but both seem to have enormous yet perfect teeth. Typical yanks! 

January 19th, 1660, and Pepys was buying mousetraps. His house had been infested by little critters. He consoled himself with another trip to the theatre and sat, incognito, in the cheap seats. He was horrified, therefore, to be spotted by a group of lowly clerks from his office, lording it in more expensive seats. 

On his way to Westminster, he saw a sledge-load of fifth monarchists on their way to the scaffold. These were some of the troublemakers who'd run riot in the City at the start of the month. They were convinced that Jesus was about to make another cameo appearance on earth. I'm sure they were very excited at the prospect of seeing him in his natural environment, or maybe they were panicking they'd miss him. After all, their paths might not have been destined to cross as they descended to heaven and the big JC took the cloud elevator back down to the ground floor. 

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