I don't usually post twit-twat, but it's Sunday night and I'm of a mood. Met Sarah and her ex, Beeee, and the kids (Daisy and Arthur) for pub lunch, thence to Workshop for cake n coffee n they went off to movie and I stayed at workshop aided and abetted by more glasses of rose n rested on red leather couch till they pikt me up n took me to Mulberry where food was grand n went to campus where they went to work n I went to pub and life continued on its grand way. Listen to ipod's Mahler 3rd all the way back to Constable Terrace. Given that the weather was inexcusably faaab I stood on one of those horrid pedestrian flyovers and conducted the slow mvt of Mahler's 3rd. Dream on wheels that piece. Up there with Schubert Str 5tet.
After my napette at Workshop got chatting with 2 blokes, turned out father and son. Father's gal is in prison. Son loked mid 20s but is but 18 and potentially delish. Sitting by me in Union pub was a Norwegian novelist who'd moved from Paris shortly after Brevik's massacre. She's just finishing a novel whose title she's have trouble translating - something like The Monster - about herself. No ref to Brevik intended. Tricky.
Stole a glass of rose from the communal fridge when Mahler 3rd's slow movt conducted me home, and am listening to Faure Requiem as I pen this twit twat.