Tonight at Alan Bennett double bill, the woman next to me showed her smartphone to an elderly companion. Him: ‘Can you get hard porn on it?’
Someone in this library’s got a sneeze that sounds like Michael Jackson going ‘hoo-hoo’.
Idea: Italian lute music to be broadcast in all public swimming pools worldwide for 5 minutes at 4.00pm every day. Result: Happy people.
There’s honey in my shampoo and tea in my conditioner. I imagine they will make my hair look like Rupert Brooke’s.
I can feel another children’s literature dissertation coming on: ‘Gay subtexts in Frog and Toad.’ Reading the books as an adult, it’s clear that Frog is flamboyantly queer, while Toad is drably straight but may be turnable.
When I had the gastroscopy, Dr M said think of something else. My brain was singing ‘Oliver’, so I just concentrated on that instead, sang it very loud in my head. Next time, sedation.
Little children bickering at Victoria Road traffic lights: ‘I’m the red man!’ ‘No, you’re the green man!’
On the lawn outside King’s this afternoon: a duck, a blackbird and a fat pigeon hopping about together.