Monday 14th of August, 2000
I have to remember that this is not a competitive sport
I stay in bed for a little longer than I ought.
I go to the Gym, still a bit infected -I worry about giving myself a relapse by exerting myself. But then I worry about meteor strikes if I nothing better to worry about.
I finally make it to Tesco. Hurrah!. I also try to buy the sorts of thing that I am likely to eat, so that I don't just go out to the take-away anyway, leaving the shopping rotting in the cupboard.
To the Tron to see Chris Conway, a very fine SS, apparantly hailing from Leicester. Or at least that's what he says. Plays an array of instruments, including thumb piano and, at one point, two penny-whistles at the same time.
I hang around for the ESS open mic and indeed during it, because I am on near the end, and do The Secret Agent's Dream and Where Did It All Go Right? After me is a woman called Merri-May Gill, who does both fiddly jazz chords and laconic songs much better than me. I have to remember that this is not a competitive sport - it's very easy to slip into the notion that someone can "win" an open mic. And very stupid.
I have no idea what happens to the hours between 1:00am when I return home, and 3:30 am, when I actually go to bed.