cannot, have these wasted cancellations. give in to the night time craving for words and music but not for belly-fillin'. cousin bette? or breakfast at tiffany's again? or none at all? what to read on a two day holiday? you are right, trumpeter sir, neither it shall be. but i will draw and sketch and write and attempt more to conjuure up more thought-filled poetic prose, a bit like madame plath at the beach with her wards. of course, we must add a dash of theatrics. so in comes the kings of convenience strummin' and balladin', the oakley's sunglasses perched up high as a head band, and hopefully, a decent view of a dreamy marbled horizon. i'd like to bring some colour pencils but i shall not be too ambitious in the luggage department. i shall, have a monochrome weekend. black scribbles on white sheets, and music and dialogue shall colour my scene.

eugenie g by balzac ended badly. apparently, money is what makes people tick and romantic love is an idealised piece of nonsence. poor eugenie gets sterilised at the end and stupid charles he killed her soul. well well but still it gets me down not, i still croon along with ewan mcgregor in moulin rouge, all we need is love. the ewan mcgregor type, not that of eugenie's lover in the book. moulin rouge is very good. cos' love is good there, i mean, tragic but good, and love should always be good, ideally. MY CHOY you are perfect!

holiday with the whole family, first in ten years. i shall try a little dialogue-jotting-down. we make funny conversation. three or four at a time. and we always keep up. nice, this quirky rhythm.