8.30am Alarm goes off – to hell with hotel Breakfast – intermittent sleep until the trolleys of vim and J cloths go rattling by.
10am Mmmm celery for breakfast, considerably more delicious knowing that it is eaten in silence not in a room engulfed by chanting and booming Americans.
11am some more Aberdeen charity shops. No unusual books, ghost written autobiographies and airport fiction are predominant.
12pm To Leuchars. I use the ticket machine to get the ticket for fear that if I go to a window I will pronounce it and receive stares and giggles that can be provoked when someone demonstrates they are an alien to this branch of railway line.
Yet again the only space seems to be close to the sliding door of the toilet – on this occasion there is no screaming or accusations. There may have been silent moments of shame but I managed to make sure I had my back to the convenience and a little more distance.
1pm such a sunny day that a brief moment Dundee almost looked like Miami. It is not Miami. Many years ago I played the University there with Woody Bop Muddy (“RECORD GRAVEYARD!” “RICE! THEY LOVE IT IN CHINA!”) . So few people turned up that we were told we could cancel the gig and have full fee. We demanded to go on. I saved a copy of Altered Images’ Pinky Blue from Woody Bop Muddy’s hammer.
2.30pm The taxi driver from Leuchars to St Andrews takes me on a circuitous route to ensure I see where all the charity shops are.
3pm Charity shops have many golf clubs. I do not need any gold clubs. My walks require no addition of competition, not even birdwatching bingo. I buy an Open University book on the Nature of Self, A Short Treatise on the Great Virtues and Big Questions in Science. Then I read them in Pizza Express. I want to order the Giadianera as usual, but at the last minute I revert to the usual Fiorentina as I know I won’t mispronounce that.
4pm My lodging are an L shaped room with a hint of Lynne Reid Banks. The ensuite is not ensuite but Dans le chamber. I can pull a curtain around the toilet though for increased dignity. The lampshade is pink. I imagine this is the right kind of room to be found dead with inky fingers and an unwritten manuscript, lying like Thomas Chatterton but balder and fatter.
8pm read from books on stage as usual and shout a bit inbetween.
11pm sit in My L Shaped Room eating oatcakes and carrots while watching The Dancer Upstairs. I wonder where the bolted door in my room leads to. I decide to leave it bolted. Wonder if I hear hair growing behind it.