Thursday – Ilkley
8.13am Fortunately when I woke up from my uneasy dreams I had not transformed into a giant insect. My first six hours of attempted sleep had been taken up with rolling around and making huffing noises, every now and again repositioning the heavy tin bin to ensure it was close enough for my vomit to reach it if my stomach decided to turn again. It didn’t. The bin remained empty.
I still had a headache, dizziness and nausea. The nausea was not brought on by existentialism, just whatever foodstuff from many hours before had interfered with my digestive rhythms.
8.45am sipped water, no debate on whether to make it to breakfast.
8.55am I risked the moving images of television. David Morrissey talked about playing Mark Billingham’s detective creation, then something called Heir Hunters. I was pale enough to keep listening but not watching.
10.15am Taxi to Ilkley station, fortunately the movement of the taxi doesn’t stir anything.
10.40am Train to Leeds. Start to feel out of sorts again but persuade myself that this is because there is no toilet on the train so it is a psychosomatic incident (this is why I always sit in aisle seats. It avoids my imagination saying, “uh oh, the play has just begun and you are right in the middle of the row. Now I know you went to the toilet three times pre-show and started to get looks that suggested suspicion of Royal Court cottaging, but now you really do need a wee. What is more embarrassing, to stand up and pardon your way out during a soliloquy, or wee here and hope it doesn’t make too much noise)
12.05pm risk first solid in 27 hours. Eat the banana slowly.
1.40pm banana still in stomach as we arrive at Kings Cross. Swear briefly at one of my book heavy bags.
3.15pm arrive home merely to drop two heavy bags at my house, then return to London. On the way I pop into Oxfam. I must start donating to other charity shops in my area. Some book sections are entirely made up of books I have given which is beginning to spoil the browsing. I think I need a non-fiction book by HG Wells but remind myself that I have three other non-fiction HG Wells books to read so shouldn’t really buy another.
4.05pm Hmmm, maybe some plain and unadorned chips would be a good idea.
4.12pm Chips rumbling
5pm arrive in London with plenty of spare time before Scott Capurro’s chat show. Physical uncertainty has returned to me. I decide to walk from Euston to Vauxhall.
5.20pm Browse in Fopp. “ooh that looks interesting” Remind myself how many DVDs I still need to watch that I have bought here before. Put the Edward Said interview and Andy Warhol screen test DVDs back on the shelf.
6pm walking from Trafalgar Square to Pimlico I feel like I need to use a public toilet again. I know this will be psychosomatic too as down this stretch I would have to relieve myself against a statue commemorating women in war, the houses of Parliament or the last remnants of a peace camp. All options are easy fodder for a page 9 news story.
8pm interviewed by Scott Capurro at Royal Vauxhall Tavern. I wasn’t a great interviewee though Scott was very good. I remain on stage for Scott ‘s interview with Lembit Opik. Fortunately Lembit did not bring his harmonica. I am a little sparkier in this section. (27 hours later I will accidentally come across Brian Logan’s brief slaying of me in The Guardian which will cause me to tweet at 1am that he is “a lying bag of shit”, but that’s for the day’s events in tomorrow’s blog)
10pm stay to watch Scott interview Michael Barrymore while I gently sip lime and soda. It is an interesting interview though I am later told that many of his answers were verbatim from his autobiography.
11.35pm Home. I have survived without sullying things.