On 28 February 1995 I was in San Francisco and I spent my last evening there going to the theatre; a play called The Plays The Thing which was being put on by the highly regarded company, the American Conservatoire Theatre at the theatre they were borrowing on Geary while their own theatre was being refurbished.
The performance was a near sell out and by the time I got into my seat it was packed out.
I quickly realised the majority of the audience, this being San Francisco, were probably gay. They were certainly impeccably dressed and groomed.
On the way in, as I entered the foyer I was stunned to see, for the first time I ever saw it, three large trestle tables, set out with hundreds and hundreds of little medicine glasses, all filled with water ready, set out for the evening’s patrons to use. I realised immediately that the theatre was providing these for those of their audience who were on AZT, one of the early treatments for HIV Aids. By the time I left the theatre on the way out – and the performance was brilliant – I noticed that there were hardly any medicine glasses remaining. They had almost all been used. The majority of the audience were on medication. I wonder what proportion of that audience has survived these fifteen years; and I wonder often whether in fact I was the only member of the audience that evening who was HIV negative.
It is nearly fifteen years since and this is now another approaching World Aids Day. In the UK, there are now three times as many people infected with the HIV virus than there were just ten years ago. Thats why I support World Aids Day – I saw something I had not expected, and cannot forget.
As I went out today for lunch, a lady had been trying the door security system. She asked me if I was from flat 23. I said no. The lady was apparently unable to contact the lady whom she was due to take out for a ride in her car. I have now met someone from Outward Bound For The Elderly! It does exist.
Today I heard the first Christmas song on UK radio. It is November 21st and there are still about five weeks to go. I won’t name and shame the radio station involved, but its name is remarkably like Gold.
This is far too early. We haven’t had Easter yet, have we?
Not far away, opposite the pier, which is already surrounded by long-hours-opening boozers, someone wants to open yet another boozer from 8.00 in the morning continuously until 3 am the following morning.
I used to rail against fuddy duddies, but those sections of the community who campaign against the wide availability of alcohol have a point.
Witness the two idiots who have been decorating the outside of the building here. It was supposed to be a two week job when they first appeared FOUR weeks ago. Their slow progress has been because they are alcoholics. They keep forgetting where they have got to, so keep re-doing jobs they have already done. Completely disorganised, they do things in the wrong order. Lacking discipline, they take far too many tea breaks (probably not tea!) and lounge around unprofessionally getting in the way. Lacking dexterity they drop things and crash about. Being in a state of confusion due to the drink they make mistakes and have accidents. But yesterday afternoon was the pits. They went out for ‘lunch’ and on their way back crashed their vehicle into the garden gates, causing damage, which they then tried to hide and bodge and cover up in a drunken panic with them falling about all over the place. We complained; their boss arrived; and threw them off the property.
There is too much booze available, it is too cheap, and I regard alcohol as public enemy number one. I agree with the fuddie duddies only because it has gone too far.
I thought I would try an alcohol free Christmas pudding this year. Today, I began to have my doubts, and these doubts made themselves felt, as if by magic, as I approached the display of Christmas puddings in the supermarket. Then I noticed that a pudding (matured for six months! laced with cognac!) which had been top of the range had been reduced by about thirty percent, and before you could say whoosh, it was in my basket.
So I got the alcohol-free one out and tried it. It was awful. Dry, dusty, tasteless and appeared to be set in some sort of glue.
If you’ve got one of those things, dump it now.
Most of this week has been rainy, if mild; yesterday we both went for our hair cuts and for once it was a perfect, beautiful early to mid autumn day. The leaves are falling all around now, many of the trees are types we are still unfamiliar with. The traffic is terrible especially if you try to walk up the West side of the road. The barbers is on the same road we are, just the opposite end. Quite a character along with most of his regulars but you get a good and relaxed hair cut. In Bas, we used to get back by 9.30 but here it is more like 10.15 due to the generally slower pace of life here by the sea. The barber has Radio 2 on, and we have worked out where the noise comes from – his secret radio is a DAB radio. I don’t like the sound on digital radio. Johnnie Walker played ‘Dreaming’ by Johnny Burnette. It doesn’t sound like Johnny Burnette on DAB, it sounds like a cheap copy. There’s something wrong with DAB if it sounds as bad as that.
Three years ago this week we were looking at properties. The agent arrived to show us round a flat. He led us in, opened the door for us and flounced around switching on lights and opening the doors to the rooms while delivering his patter, which ended with his face just inches from mine to deliver his key sales punch line: ‘And best of all, it’s only two years old!’
‘No,’ said your Mouse, quietly.
‘Yes it is,’ he said, looking worried.
‘Its pre-1999. I Googled it,’ I explained.
Lesson: don’t tell lies. Now more than ever it is very easy to be found out.
Waiting for the chip shop to open; some of the Friday regulars arrived. There was a man of about my age, perhaps a little less, holding the hand of an elderly, and rather small, lady. She started chatting, as older people often do. This was her son, he called her his ‘little Mum’ and she had shrunk ten inches in the last few years. You’re very lucky to still have your Mum, I told him; I miss mine dearly. They asked how long ago she had died. Just over seven years, I replied. Then the boys unlocked the doors to let us in.
Leaves crunching under your feet. All the locals started wearing their warm jackets three weeks ago (they are still wearing shorts though). I have gone from wearing thin madras shirts to thicker polo shirts. The lightweight jacket is back on its hanger and the leather jacket is back in use. There’s talk of a postmen’s strike and people being urged to post their Christmas cards today if they want them to arrive before Christmas, without specifying exactly which Christmas. I have already bought the Christmas Pudding. It is autumn. Can’t you feel it in your bones?
The day a week ago when we went to Little Clacton turned out to be the last beautiful sunny and warm day we have had. Its now unrelentingly grey and dull and windy and decidedly chilly.
I’m having a tooth out on Tuesday and dreading it.
