The Pearl Fisher

A shrewish cold galls my throat. Feeling dizzy I was forced to leave my office partway through downloading images from Michael Cousin's show at g39. I am now writing letters and emails from my bed. So far I have produced: an invoice for Café Artistique; emails to Dan and Owen in Bath (from whom I have not heard much in a while) and a couple of panicky messages to Milika at Cell project space. Despite my worries all seems to have gone to plan and I am looking forward to travelling down to London tomorrow to see the final opening for "Trying to Cope with Things that aren't Human". I am even more excited because I have just remembered there is a Vampire story in the publication. Last night my beloved and I watched Peter Cushing in "The Brides of Dracula". Yet again the heroine survived and the vampire was easily despatched, this time by the shadow of a burning windmill. Mr Cushing was immaculately dressed throughout and inhabited the film with such gentleness and flair that all around him seemed crude caricatures. There was even one moment where he found himself an avuncular sidekick. He was a rotund bumbling doctor, but his name wasn't Watson. Afterwards discussion turned to a relative who had had to have his boot exorcised after his church was used for a black mass. He was a church warden and it was his car rather than his foot that was in danger. Thinking of Whitstable again I have made a film of a tree growing from the top of a building opposite my lodgings. Unfortunately I had to remove the sound as loud groans and giggling were issuing from my neighbours' flat.