Today got off to a rocky start, I forgot my keys, Olly was in good humour yet masked by a black dog of sourness that poisoned the spectacular occasion. After returning home, I found my keys (in the door, where I left them). We struck up ‘gainst booming stereo bass-lines, the show was almost a write off. Thankfully Max’s optimism kept our spirits high, and we saw the job through to its conclusion. In amidst competition from four other local musicians, we retained the regular residency. Fed. Paid. (Albeit a pitiful amount).
We went for another drink, philosophised a little, then headed back into town.Wherein was found the cellist and composer who had seen us earlier on in the day. Olly stayed there sloshed, I had to leave. Fairyn is off in Glastonbury, and I dine alone, happily, with Ronulus Barcius (whom I adore more than anyone in the world, never before has any man had such a faithful and true companion). It’s all good.
On the Rosie front: She freed my phone up only after I arrived home from work (i.e. when I needed it the most). Now I have my iPhone back, for a time at least. The serpentine mass of hair will surely become aggravated and begin to twitch and squirm: she will hack me again (if the last year and a half is anything to go by...) but for now at least, is peace. Thank God.
Maximus Fleximus Latium.Post-Script: Upon waking up the next morning, I go to see if my YouTube videos I re-tagged yesterday are still searchable. Sure enough Rosie Rushton-Stone has hacked my account again and made them all undefined. She is surely evil.
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