London. Day off.
Going home in the middle of a tour can be extremely disorientating but this jaunt has been so brief and so busy that I wasn€™t in danger of slowing down enough to really take on the concept of where I was. The reason for the trip was to meet a builder and inspect some damage at my place due to water ingress during the recent monsoons. It€™s a complete drag, of course, but I suppose it could have been worse. We know what happened, everything seems fixable, I have a builder who is up for taking it on. There were mushrooms growing on the ceiling of the stairwell.
Aside from inspecting the indoor shiitake farm, I managed a high-speed catch up with mail, bills, maintenance, chores and the like. I even managed some recreation, as a friend of mine called to ask if I€™d like to see Stephen Fry at the Albert Hall tonight. This seemed like a splendid idea, so I headed down later to see how the great English polymath might fare in the flesh. As a show it was a bit of an odd affair, the premise being that he was responding to questions posed to him on Twitter, but in actuality he just related a somewhat meandering series of personal reminiscences. The evening had no particular structure or direction and if anything he had an air of being rather surprised to find himself standing in front of us. The overall effect though was rather like listening in on a dinner conversation, warm, gentle, revealing & witty, including extensive tributes to Peter Cook & Oscar Wilde. Eclectic, if nothing else.