Golden Afternoon (Day 13)

Had to deal with some practical shit first thing – our TalkTalk broadband is reaching the head-spinning speed of 4.85 Mbps download (service billed as “Up to 24 Mbps” – amazing what those short words “up to” let you get away with). Once I’d come through the dark morning of the soul which is trying to speak to TalkTalk customer services (did I mention my shit broadband is courtesy of TalkTalk?) I got straight down to writing and ploughed on with my faithful companion, Chapter One. Had to sacrifice a rather neat end of chapter because I couldn’t squeeze the new stuff I was covering into what I’d already written, it’s quite a tight structure where each paragraph flows into the next meaning I can’t make big insertions without messing up that flow. But who knows, there’s loads more to go into it so the neat ending may yet make it to the end.

Clarion Awards 2013

Helen holding my reflection

I used a tube journey into town to do some more reading about Robert McAlmon. Fascinating man (so far), drinking buddy of James Joyce while he was finishing Ulysses in Paris. My excursion was to attend the Clarion Awards at the kind invitation of the Bedtime Live team at Twofour Productions. These awards focus on communications in the ethical, enviromental, CSR and social engagement areas. Happily Bedtime Live Multiplatform won the Digital category so drinking kicked in relatively early for a Friday afternoon in a way Joyce would have approved of. The event took place in the BMA Building in Tavistock Square, designed by Lutyens, so it was good to get a sneaky peak at a London interior I’d not yet had the pleasure of. It is also on the site of one of Dickens’ homes. Across the square is a bust of Virginia Woolf located within her Bloomsbury manor. At least there was some writerliness about the afternoon.

And so the writing week petered out in a glow of autumn sunshine bathing cross-legged Gandhi in the Tavistock Square gardens. He’s one of the case-study subjects of Creating Minds by Howard Gardner, recommended to me by the very supportive Mark Earls (author of Herd). That tome (Gardner’s)  blows apart the unalloyed saintliness of Gandhi, highlighting how his genius was in relating on a mass political scale while his ability to relate to family in particular on a one-to-one basis was abject failure and hard-hearted. I headed home to relate to family on a one-to-one basis.

My younger brother came round with his boys and I took delight in sharing my favourite drummer with my ten year old nephew who drums. I showed him (and my step-father who also drums, of the Archer Street generation) Michael Shreeve’s solo at Woodstock with Santana. One of the best ever and he was only n-n-nineteen.

Virginia Woolf

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