But then I’m only the guitar player

In the day I went Christmas present shopping, and discovered the deep political rift between the Spanish Guitar Centre and the London Guitar Studio. Also spent time looking through the London Graphic Centre. Met up with Haru and walked home. Tea and fudge, a sandwich a bit of a lie down and a shower and then out to the Bloomsbury.

I go by a route that’s even more circuitous than last time, eventually getting off at Goodge Street, because the announcer says trains not stopping at Warren Street, then realise (too late) that I could have got off at Euston, which is even closer, then that I could just have got a bus that went to Euston, which would have been a lot easier.

Interestingly the first forty minutes is composed of people whose first name begins with R.

Lovely night, I get to see Robyn Hitchcock and Barry Cryer perform, and Robyn Hitchcock says hello and shakes my hand, which makes me very happy.

Home, because Phil has to get back to the depths of beyond in the snow, probably. I have a kebab and we watch Have I Got News For You (I realise that in conversation I quote a quote that was on this, which makes me look like someone who repeats gags that were on Have I Got News For You as his own. But then I’m only the guitar player) and the 70-minute fan critique of The Phantom Menace