I sat opposite two French people in Costa this morning who were somewhat disconcerting. They must have been in their early twenties but they were whispering and giggling like a pair of little school children. I couldn't work out why they were behaving like that. Frankly, just by speaking French, they were probably ruling out anyone else in the cafe from understanding their conversation, but by whispering they were actually making their fellow customers feel so paranoid that they all started tuning in and trying to work out what was being said. It was very odd. The giggling was the most disconcerting part. I wanted to throttle the bloke. Then, when he stood, up he was only 5'6", so I instantly forgave him.
There were a lot of irritating people in Costa this morning, including two ghastly yummy mummies, one of whom was really worried because her son wanted to become a DJ, but she thought he ought to go to Cambridge instead. The other one, one of those privileged ethnically diverse types with a plummy voice, said she had started to think she needed to replace her nanny with a house keeper. First world problems.
There's nothing else to say about today. I ran. There was lots of blossom and the air smelt delightfully Spring like. There were no customers in the local barber shop again. It worries me so much that I am thinking of going in there again even though I went two weeks ago. Seeing the bloke sitting there looking all forlorn is heart-breaking.
I've started beating the text I've been given for the Gay Men's Chorus commission into shape. Heaven knows what's going to come out musically, but I'm looking forward to sitting down in front of a piano for the first time this year and seeing if the muse strikes.
I've shaved most of my beard off. I've left a big old General Haig moustache and a bit of stubble. I was fed up of looking old with the great big flash of white jowliness on my chin. The moustache is bright orange. My hair is black. What is wrong with my pigmentation? My face looks like an Egyptian flag!