I spoke to Steve Beresford yesterday- on Tuesday Shirley Raincoat showed me a picture of the burned-down University of Westminster and I was worried about Steve's things- his books, his paper record-players, his odd instruments in strange shaped cases (we always used to speculate but were too polite to unzip-and-look). He was happy- all his stuff was OK, and he has a lorra gigs coming up and I must go and see him play. Probably at Boat Ting in September, because I like that boat.
My 5 years worth of Q magazines has gone, I think.
Today I'm going to Scotland to see McDad who is not well. My car's smashed up again, and is going to Casualty; before it goes I'll take out the Just William tapes to play to McDad. They are the funniest things you have ever heard- the narrator is Martin Jarvis and his impersonation of pompous middle aged women is so hilarious it makes you choke on your clotted cream scone. I've listened to them hundreds of times on long journeys and they are just as funny the hundredth time as they were the first. What a genius Richmal Crompton was- the stories are like perfect little songs or drawn-out jokes, all tied up neatly at the end with William winning, in spite of everything he makes go wrong.
I think I would like to have been William.
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