I am returned from Cardiff. My head hurts and further events at work, which I shall not relate here, have confused me. People are shouting outside my window and the Seagulls woke me at dawn. I present here the fragments of my memory.
I got to the station an hour early and passed the time by watching the café workers attempting to hang bunting evenly. As time passed the bunting was cut to progressively shorter lengths until, in the end, only three small pieces were left stretched awkwardly across the smallest of the three windows.
Seated in the silent carriage a phone repeatedly rings, suspicious eyes pop up above the seats and fall on me as I look up vampire moths on google.
Ruth and Meriele said they would be on my train, but there is no sign. I don’t know what they look like and try staring encouragingly at pairs of young women.
Join ‘LinkedIn’ I’m not sure why. Passengers eye me suspiciously as the same phone starts to ring again.
Start to think about bingo
Standing in Cardiff station waiting I send a picture of myself to Ruth
G39 is tall, as is Chris Brown, and the show looks great. My film has a room to itself and is beautifully displayed. Up in the office drinking tea I look out of the window to see the prow of the John Lewis building bearing down on me like a huge black ship and start to worry in earnest about the evening ahead.
Ruth and Meriele jolly me along and take me to my lodgings which is decorated much like the homes in “Drink the Blood of Dracula” – a stag’s head hangs in the breakfast room.
John Plowman talks to me about the power of small men, he is smaller than I imagined. He has a list of words.
Later after frantic eating and chair arranging, we talk of many things, I burble and start sentences which I have no way of ending, John is more relaxed and considered. Luckily one section of the audience take pity on me and decide to take over the conversation, I remember thinking it is a great pity they will not be paid for there efforts.
Drinking Guinness. Richard Higglett produces some Cheshire cheese. I meet Mike Cousins at last but he has become the Ambassador for Welsh Art. At four o’clock in the morning I find myself lying across my bed listening to the seagulls.
