On Saturday last I went to London to see Adam Buxton’s BUG David Bowie Special with my sister and a friend. It was an excellent, funny, dynamic presentation on Bowie and well worth the trip from Cambridge.
On the way home I saw a mildly unfortunate incident. A group of friends were about to leave train. It was obvious these men had been celebrating something. Seconds from the train arriving at their station one of their number gasped and darted his hand in front of his mouth. I panicked. I searched for a paper bag, half-rising to escape the anticipated trajectory. He stumbled forward. The next few moments were kept in that position as he tried to maintain this posture and not eject the contents of his stomach. Finally, the doors opened and he escaped.
It was horrid to watch (and hear). I’m not very robust when it comes to all things emesis.
The next day I travelled to Ireland to visit my parents. My dad and I had previously spoken about The Third Policeman. Almost the first thing he did on this visit was to give me another Flann O’ Brien book The Hard Life . I took one look at the cover drawing by Ralph Steadman and thanked him. But I’m not sure I am brave enough to read it yet.