KEEPING TRACK OF ONESELF

One week ago to the hour was tarting myself up before supper (that's right Supper is how am rolling) on the Louis Vuitton barge on the Rhine. Awfully nice it was too. Tonight, what shall it be? Opera at the Met? Usually on the Radio 3 admittedly. Tayyabs down Whitechapel? Or perhaps Romford dog track? Yes there. I'll be going on my own I think.

It's actually rather exhilarating once you've got your head round the act of bowling up to a new scene like this one your own. It begs the question, how many brand new activities/occasions/locations could you just decide to appear at each month? Each week even? It reminds you of the endless scenes that are perpetually unfolding ever minute of existence. All we do are the same few we know. Odd. Unknown scenes can be strangely simultaneously alien and familiar, mundane and fascinating, un-nerving and comforting. Makes one wonder where do we exist in our consciousness when its all so easy to change just with a manuel vista-shift.

The Cook report this is not gonna be, but am investigating tonight. Greyhound racing. Got my brief and my crayon, but first, what does one wear? Trussadi perhaps..or too, too luxe for Essex? Trusty C.P.Company padded down jacket methinks. Trevor brooking/cab driver to some, but those that know, don't always show. Right?

Meanwhile, did I mention I had a visiter on Monday night? Probably not. Go ahead rat. Make my day. When the rat is dead, I might turn Lucifer on the squirrels.

TS out.

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