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High-priced Nessi

The discourse haunt me...”I’ve only got 20, perhaps 25 years left. I deficiency to live all I can, every point of time, before it’s gone...”

I look intently into my cocktail, direct the eye up at the gilt mosaic ceiling, and speculate, I’ve only got five years left... but I don’t say it cos I’m not yet pissed. And anyway, what’s the end of s*x? I’ll still be practical to enjoy completion, art, music, mosaic ceilings, cocktails, preparing up. It’s stupid, this menopause-phobia. This ludicrous perma-horniness.

My dear companion is saying how there are so many fine moments, temporary, intense. It’s about carnality and spirituality. It’s not about s*x.

--

Body message, Friday obscurity: “Let’s suitable at... a diminutive basement bar... an old national loo with glass awning over the entrance flight of steps.”

There’s a hen party going on and what looks resembling karaoke but I’m told is a agent. Nevermind, this is lawful where to meet. The hens are in fishnets and brief skirts.

“Rigorous legs,” I say, “I could slap her.” A diminutive too loud.

It’s seasonable and we are sober. The India-rubber Tranny has to operate over Easter weekend while I’ve been recording with my tie. Civilised conference. We talk about our own weddings. And go on foot. Not time for foul matter. Yet.

Earlier, in the workshop, I tell the ligament I have a hot date. A masked globe. Floyd knows the circumstance organisers. “Oh! It’s imaginary! It’s a mansion in Covent Garden! They have hundreds of lifeless pheasants everywhere and they create you take Rohipinol at the entrance!”

”Floyd lives in a separate world to us...” say the ligament later.

The workshop is amazing. The most excellent session yet. Ted’s engineering skills are more good than ever. But most of all it’s the band: everyone gets on, everyone is 100% there. Even Spanky Boy is adding to it, construction suggestions, giving us pep talks, construction us up. He comes in mid way through the first carol,...

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