Dorothy has only one major «flaw»: she refuses to have her picture taken…
I woke up early, my cold in full «bloom», making it impossible for me to sleep anymore. I studied her face line by line (struggling with my hazy vision), and was very tempted to take her picture, but that would not have been very respectful, so I didn’t.
We had breakfast at the bright hall inside Paddington Station, nothing fancy, just filling our bellies. We separated not long after that, agreeing to meet up again the next day, hardly able to contain our excitement.
I met Marc later that day at the Brewmaster pub. The two of us first met there three years ago. We encountered each other on Twitter a little before that, discovering that we have a lot in common, both as artists and human beings. We hit off right away.
I wasn’t at my best, to say it the least. My cold was in full bloom and I was soaked in sweat, looking like I had spent hours in a sauna or something. Two cups of coffee just before I got there still made me more than a passable conversation partner. We spoke at length, filled with passion. Our meeting/conversation was just as interesting as it usually is.
Marc showed me the way to the poetry club I had been searching for later. It was as he pointed out, both hard and easy to locate. We didn’t walk inside. I just didn’t feel up to it physically that day.
The rest of Friday was pretty much ruined for me. I just returned to the hotel and crashed, and stayed like that without any improvement. The evening and night were spent in and out of delirious (far from delicious) dreaming.
The second half of Friday was not the best part of my
visit. I did manage, like always to write something, to scribble a few notes,
though. My time is rarely a total waste. London
But this is as close as I’ve come to that in a long time.