The visit went well, I think. I sadly wasn't up to going to see Peter Blegvad in Whitechapel, Friday.(Noooooo! Tube journey would have been required, due to lateness, and my Arthur-itis is very owie this week , not to mention the CFS; Oy!...)
The NEW VOICES FROM SERBIA programme went very well. Sasa showed some cool slides, and there were readings from ace writers. Of course, it didn't start until late, and the (very attractive-) Salon des Arts was terribly hot, and very crowded, so I crapped out of the interval standing-around marathon, and second half. Sounded like a very lively "Q&A" ensued, though
I had the pleasure of meeting young cartoonist Bridgeen Gillespie (with a name like that, how could she not share my evil-nun obsession?) and the elegantly-coiffed Mr White from THE IDLER. Sasa met Richard Cowdry, but I didn't.
I didn't even have the strength to leave the flat, yesterday, but managed to get the place more or less tidied up, anyway.
Then I had R at the door wanting to share her latest traumas at length. Why do people so often make me their roomy crying-shoulder? I hardly encourage them... Maybe it's because I'm not very talkative myself. God, though, it can be profoundly wearisome...
Collapsed, then; nothing much on TV; thought I'd re-visit LA CONFIDENTIAL for a while,nodded out, and woke up to watch a really bizarre,creepy ol' Czech film, THE CREMATOR, and so to bed, with abdabs.