Resume

Sunday 22:57 p.m.
The leaves seemed blasted and shredded on the raspberry stalks today. I ate a few, but there aren't many left. I heard it was a hard day for weather yesterday, but I spent most of it in the lobby and there are no windows or anything to the outside world, so what do I know?

I meditated for two hours in the hut. Everything opened up and I sat there in the bliss. This evening was wonderful as well in this regard. Warmth and bliss, but not so much heat, probably because I hadn't enough time spent on creating the three channels.

I had to give my time to the flatheids on Thursday and Friday because my beautiful, wonderful daughter was 21 at the end of the week. She was priceless on Friday when we went to see a preview performance of J.M. Barrie's play Mary Rose at the Lyceum. She has an Equity card. She spent two summers acting on kids programmes with the Comedy Unit of the BBC in Glasgow. I took her to first nights at the Traverse up until I fell off the freebie list when Philip Howard left. Her mother was in the theatre and had bought the tickets. Whenever her wonderful mother buys the tickets for any drama, I hope it will be so appallingly bad that it might be worth watching. I asked the kiddo what she thought of it play when it was finished and she said: "The reason why I don't want to try and write a play is because I'm worried that it might end up like that."

I'm a bit of a disgrace, Jack. What are the rest of them like, Hotboy? Hmmmm? I wouldn't like to say, Jack. I really wouldn't.