Two point seven seconds on a Bull named Fu Man Chu

Weekend over.

Managed through judicious planning to avoid London party and saw Pip for fleeting moments, shared in adversity, grasped at in Mazlovian need and lived, as if we were dying. No sky diving, rocky mountain climbing or bull called Fu Manchu involved thankfully.

Chelsea pulled it out the bag at the Millennium "boy’s vs. men" the tabloids say. Not sure myself. I’m a fan of neither but adore Jose’ and his raffish approach to the English game. Arsene, is held less affectionately in my head despite shaping a team of naive children to play like fully-fledged Brazilians. It’s probably the Gallic in him that does (or actually does not) do it for me. All this shrugging and "I didn’t see the incident" does my head in.

Beep-be-Beep is back and staying at the house. Watched, a DV compilation of Jules’ Later show with him. As ever, the voice of the professional musician is like ambrosia to my amateur ears. Particularly when he say’s things like "Paul Weller is a cock" A fact that has never been far from the surface of my consciousness.

Having him home for a few days is, at once both a joy and a hardship. Dynamics in my house tricky at best, strained at worst. Words come into my head like emotional absence, distancing and negativity. All of which serve to make me think of myself as a hateful person.

Work intrudes again today. I’m at the centre of a big project that runs out on March 9th. It’s a kudos job and success in this will ensure my star remains high in the firmament of the world that is the Public Services. Ultimate boss of same falls into a big category of people (in my life) who have very divided opinions about me. The fact she fucked over Pip badly about two years ago and still knows nothing of this Trojan horse in her midst is an exciting frisson tinged with danger and anxiety. I think she thinks I’m ok and uses me as a mouthpiece for presentation and the big stage. She also knows I’m (badly) a stream of consciousness person and so, putting me into the limelight, is like getting Jonathan Ross to present Question Time. Potentially Messy !

As I write this, I’m already working on a range of convincing head chatter for the day that includes effective "stop" statements. Trouble is, the smell of the crowd and the roar of the greasepaint is, as ever, a worrying dynamic, bringing out my maddest and most rebellious side. Danger Danger.

Needs must, however. And "Living like you were dying" is all there is ?

…………that’s right isn’t it ?

JVIP