feigning interest

okso. at 8pm i don a frock and some slips


lug the laptop in the little red rucksack

and trot off to monte mario for a slap-up bankers' dinner at a 19th century villa

looking a bit incongruous.






the thought of food fills me with some dread
the image of lashings of free champagne mitigates aformentioned fear
the prospect of a boring speech to cover will temper my excesses, i rationalize.
the anticipation of lots of boring men in suits with crumbs stuck to the sides of their mouth turns my stomach a little.

as it turns out it was all in all quite jolly
i got my palm read. and it was disconcertingly on the money
i was on the terrace smoking fags and talking shit with adoring old fuddy duddies
the speech was off the record so could pretty much ignore it

and well there are worse things to do in life, surely.