Thursday 2nd October 2014

What a day, crowded with incident – yesterday. Today I can return with some relief to my usual condition of glittering pessimism which I call reality. On the other hand, to have a day off from that was a relief too, although a challenge.

But yesterday was extraordinary and classic. There was a surprise appearance. But first thing, my toast collapsed and I was covered in marmalade. After that, I gave a small luncheon at the Multis’ new cafe. Val gained as well and gave me a road map of Italy as a protest against Google maps and the awful blue blob on the iPhone that led us down a dirt track and into someone’s garden in Tuscany – such an awful modern villa as well as the wrong one. The Multis couldn’t have been more attentive and confiding. Both confided that they are introverts. The Photo Multi said that as the cafe was about to open he felt particularly introverted and reluctant to expose to the world the cafe, which had had its windows blanked out during the construction phase. ‘Love means having to let go,’ Val proclaimed. We mediated on the theme of introversion at some length. It is unusual to have interesting conversation at a birthday or high celebration. The Blond Multi said he needs to rest after people. Extroverts gain energy from company. They like sitting in pubs with mates. Very few Poor Little Rich Gays can bear this pursuit – of sitting in pubs or having mates. Introvert does not mean you are shy and retiring. Introverts are often at the top, leading, making speeches. Like the Blond Multi himself who loves making speeches. Really the introvert only sees things as they are because other people rarely achieve while sitting in a pub the splendour of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or at least that level of concentrated fascination.

So the nippy elegant cafe luncheon proceeded. We had fine wines and there was some prosecco left over and the Photo Multi said I should take it home with me. ‘How lovely,’ I said, ‘to be with friends and not alone on my birthday.’ ‘You’re never alone,’ Val declared, ‘as long as you have your memories.’ This remark recalls in tone the Royal memoirs of the Edwardian era of which we are so fond. Finally a fashion student known to the Photo Multi stopped by our table in an unusual jumper. ‘I don’t like it,’ Val said. ‘It looks like somebody’s project.’ He then made the Photo play the Portsmouth Sinfonietta doing ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ on YouTube on iPhone. How we roared and fell to the floor. I’ll say no more. Google at once and listen to the Portsmouth Sinfonietta playing ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’. You’ll be astonished.

Arriving home, I found I was drenched with prosecco from the explosion of the bottle in my bag.

Then began Part Two of my birthday – a tea and a dinner to follow. It was a gruelling programme but thrilling. I actually took a taxi as a treat, but felt queasy from the lurching round corners on obscure short-cuts.

‘I don’t Like It,’ Val Said. ‘It Looks Like Somebody’s Project.’

A Prosecco Stain from Where I Sat While Telephoning After Being Drenched in Prosecco