Where would I be without my sense of impending catastrophe?

I manage to (a) achieve some kind of consciousness when the alarm goes off and (b) actually wrench myself from my bed at 8:15. This is not analogous to leading a disciplined lifestyle but it’s a start.

It takes a long time to finish up the accounts (I’d hoped to deliver it at 10:00. Ha ha ha) and I finally get out of the house at quarter past two and reach my accountant’s at half-past three (most of that time was spent waiting for trains, he shrugged). It takes a while to find them (I have to call and ask for directions to a place that it turns out I walked past three times) but eventually I manage it and drop the big envelope off. I don’t feel too much in the way of weight lifted from my shoulders, though, because I turned up a collossal bill that I have to pay (and which I hadn’t previously noticed) while I was rummaging around. Where would I be without my sense of impending catastrophe?

Nice to see that the frankly odd Blue Hawaii restaurant is still going. Actually I can’t remember why it’s frankly odd (and I was there such a long time ago that I got very very drunk. In fact it must have been 1995 at the latest). South London’s finest collection of Tiki Tat, though.

So back again on the train.

Bits of twiddling and tweaking and then off to the Jazz jam, where the Ringer doesn’t make an appearance, but a double bass player does, I manage to offend Freddy and play a whole bunch of tunes. I enjoy myself hugely, though a certain person really ought to learn a song that isn’t Get Here by Brenda Russell. Though that said, the longer he delays it the more chances I’ll have to get it right.