The Little Horse is in London and flying today to Cairo with the BBC Holiday programme. Apparently, her hotel room overlooks the pyramids.
And now: to clear my desk.
22.54
#207, American Hotel, Amsterdam.
A question, which any experienced gigster is able to answer without missing a beat:
Q. How do you know that there will not be a car to meet an arriving gigster at the airport?
The same question, posed slightly differently:
Q. How do you know that that there is no hope whatsoever of an arriving gigster being met by a car at the airport, to bring their tired body and feebly dribbling psyche directly to their hotel; that no miraculous intervention against the press of universal laws can possibly occur, even were this to be at the direct and personal intervention of a highly placed cosmic mover and shaker?
A. Because your distributor / record company has assured you a car will be waiting to meet the pitiful arriving gigster.
At World Central the Big Two are in power mode; and Hugh the Big Fourth is preparing for a move to a larger room at World Central. All this is part of yesterday's redefinition and refining of personnel responsibilities within the office.
This morning, before leaving, I telephoned Vivien Elliot: I have been made an Honorary Nephew of Pierre & Vivien. This is a considerable honour. In acknowledgement, I drove over to their nearby Wiltshire village recently to deliver a bottle of celebratory Cremant de Loire.
The journey to Heathrow was delayed: a car transporter was burnt out, along with its five cars being delivered, near Junction 6 of the M3.
"We must be able to play in our sleep.
Because usually we do."
