Month: April 2001

I am extremely upset that I missed dinner at the home of the Finchley Three on Thursday. This is one reason to wish I was back in London, I suppose.

I find myself horrified by the prospect of returning to London. Norfolk is providing an incredible escape from all the crap I’m supposed to be dealing with at the moment that I don’t really want to have to be dealing with, but can’t see a way to avoid. I really need a couple of months of something radically different. My cousin Chloe came around this morning, and she suggested that we take off around the West Coast of America for a couple of weeks. I said I’d love to if I stumbled upon a spare five grand.

My brother informs me that my mother says I look like Jamie Oliver. When I ask him in what way, he says, “You know… Scruffy.”

My eating habits are all over the place, which is probably not the best thing at a time like this. On Thursday night I caught up with an old friend from Bristol, Dan Brilliant. I met up with him at a restaurant on St. Martins Lane. All day up to that point I had eaten half a pain au chocolat and a glass of orange juice. I ate a lot that evening, because he distracted me from the continual soundtrack of “You’re a loser” and “No one could love you” playing relentlessly in my head. On Friday, I had eaten exactly nothing by six in the evening. I then had a sandwich and some milk. My mother offered to make me some food when I got back to Norwich, but I just didn’t want anything. So that’s all I ate all day.

There’s something very biologically unlikely about the process of not wanting to eat when you’re lovelorn (I can’t honestly think of another word that doesn’t make me sound ridiculous or pathetic). It just doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d do if you were designing a reproductive system. Perhaps it’s, “So you didn’t succeed in your relationship? You’re too fat! Lose half a stone and try again.” [I’m not saying that I couldn’t afford to lose half a stone, but still…] If anyone has any links referring to or explaining the post-(ex/proto)relationship-food-aversion, then please contact me.

Finally, Angel gets good again. I’m at home in Norfolk with my family at the moment, and so far the best part of the whole experience has been seeing Buffy and Angel back to back on Sky One. I’ve just seen the episode “Reprise”, in which Angel does the dirty deed with Darla. My flatmate may well die of pleasure when she sees it.

Map-making Martyr “Ian Thomas loves making maps. His talent won him respect and a US government job. So why was he fired for putting a chart of caribou calving areas on the internet?”

This is so cool. My first paid film review. And a page all about me. It’s enough to make a man happy to be alive.

I’ve had my conversation, and it went – I suppose – as well as could legitimately be expected. You hope for more, you expect less, and you pray that you don’t get kicked too hard. Today’s been generally hectic, but for the first time this week I feel like I’ve actually accomplished something. I wrote my first review for the BBC Film website: “Fly Away Home” [Video | DVD]. I will of course let the world know when it’s up on their site. As the first non-survival-related activity that I’ve managed to complete for quite a while, I can’t help but experience a slight upturn in my spirits.

Dear Mr Quayle, It has come to my attention over the last few months that you bear a certain amount of animosity towards me. As we know from our studies of ancient texts, vengeance stimulates vengeance, and without an external party to steer one towards justice and equanimity one can – I’m afraid – only reciprocate. But this does neither of us any good. Can you not look around you at all you have and, from such a position of success, take pity on those of us forced to battle each day for whatever crumb of self-respect we can muster? Can you not take strength from the size of your home, or your salary, or from your acknowledged potency, intelligence and wit and – recognising that you have won any perceived battle between us – be gracious? Yours, tongue firmly in cheek, Tom Coates.

I’m feeling unhelpfully nervous this morning. I have an important conversation to have which I want to be completely relaxed for, but I’m not. It’s an absurd conversation to have – it won’t get anything accomplished (or at least I doubt very much that it will) – but I decided that I needed to have it, and here I am. I’ve got to do it now.