Well, so much for that theory. Mrs O and I had planned to go to the RSC in Stratford on Saturday. That meant our getting up at the ungodly hour of 7am on a Saturday morning. This we did only to discover that the Chiltern line, which we were slated to be travelling on, was fucked and that buses were replacing trains. This made the journey to Warwickshire a 3-hour slog, so we demurred and declined in that order. And to add to the misery, we couldn't shift our tickets prior to curtain up, so we lost the money and weren't able to exchange for another production.
So that blew Saturday out of the water. I ended up mooching around the house, and then doing my usual Denmark Street thing. For new readers, I should point out that when I can alight on something constructive to do of a weekend (so that's most of the time then) I hang around the guitar shops of Denmark Street in central London, itching to try out equipment, but too nervous to do so. The reason for this nervousness on my part is due to the knowledge that I have no intention of buying any more expensive guitar hardware. I'll then overcompensate furiously for the benefit of the staff, who couldn't care a tinker's cuss anyway. I'll pull faces, ask intelligent questions and even make notes in my diary.
I need to be more brazen. I might opt to have then chiseled into the granite of my headstone when the time comes: "Needed to be more brazen."
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