Robert Fripp's Diary

Bredonborough.

20.25

A cold day with frost and mainly blue sky.

T & I have had a day at home, with two local friends visiting for lunch & another for a glass of bubbling solution after work. Both of these were "short call" spontaneous events. We have other friends locally that we hope to see, and hopefully shall, before our respective tours take us far from each other and from home.

Now, an e-flurry defeated: the AOL line is engaged. Fancy that.

20.48

Well, eventually I got online, albeit slowly. It seems that my detailed suggestions for the possible press conference at Sanctuary on 5th. February have failed to translate or be understood. So, from my e-letter in response to an enquiry from a promotion office asking if their suggested timetable "sounded good"

dear d,

this sounds absolutely fucking useless. i acknowledge that i have completely and utterly failed to signal my intentions. i have signalled them to laura frequently and my restricted enthusiasm for this venture has now moved from being a professional responsibility to becoming a personal liability.

i suggest: -- -- .

this may or may not work. but if any more of my time or attention has to go into this fucking joyless fucking exercise, better that we cancel it and all have easier fucking lives.

is my impatience and frustration conveyed in this letter?

Thus the ungrateful petulance of That Awful Fripp. Clearly, he is over the top and burnt out, a sad case. Alternatively, one who has clearly signaled his concerns for more than a sufficiency of years and yet, strangely, whose signals do not yet seem to have been decoded - even by those close to him.

A major problem with cooking a golden goose, repeatedly over many years, is that one day it might no longer lay golden eggs. But perhaps this is not a prime concern for battery farmers.