Low life
Mussel bound
Jeffrey Bernard What a coincidence it is that Michaeli is employed as a mortuary assistant at the very same hospital that has kindly invited me to come in for a few days' rest and some vitamin B12 injections. He is a nice enough man but it occurs to me that with his Italian impetuosity, eagerness to please and general enthusiasm he might start stuffing my orifices with cotton wool before I have drawn the last breath. He means well but I am sure he is capable of squeezing an orange over a living, quacking duck. I ponder such things as these in the dark and early hours. And every time I see Michaeli now in the pub he will keep telling me how much he looks forward to seeing me in the ward. Ominous. 1 shouldn't have been thinking about him at all last night. I should have been asleep because I stayed out very late for me in an attempt to cure myself of insomnia. I came home and fell asleep listening to Haydn's Nelson Mass and then the damned air
extractor of the genito-urinary hospital was switched on and that did it. From that to thoughts of Michaeli was a natural sequ- ence.
But between Michaeli and Haydn I had a Perfectly dreadful meal in the Old Com- pton Street Wheeler's. It has been awful ever since Kennedy Brooks took it over and I know that well but I had a sudden craving for some moules mariniere. The Inoules themselves were the size of under- nourished peas. The soup they sat on was salt water. After that I had a too small Portion of crab which sat on a lettuce leaf long deceased. The rooms themselves are an interior design disaster. Kennedy Brooks would 'refurbish' Westminster Abbey if they could get their hands on it. The old guvnor, Bernard Walsh, did us a great disservice when he died — not that he did himself any favours either. What will the polluters of England do next? They could introduce plastic thatch on cottages, I suppose, or turn Hamp- ton Court into a leisure centre. They could take the Turners out of the Tate and replace them with Andy Warhol posters and they could tarmac the garden in Soho Square and make it into a car park. But we shouldn't mention these things. It will give them ideas and there are bastards in this country who are quite capable of carrying out these 'improvements'. I wish Michaeli Would stuff them immediately.
If I thought that they had the remotest Idea of how to run the country I might have voted for the Greens the next time round. On the other hand, the fact that they know even less about politics than I do about the
ant theory could be a blessing in disguise. But I suppose that in a hundred Years' time this country will just be one vast oil slick with the Americans keeping itS alive by parachuting hamburgers on to us. Before that, though, they will cut up the Forest of Dean to make matches. Chatsworth will become a youth detention centre and the Church will be privatised — Meaning that a vicar can buy his church if he thinks he could put enough bums on Pews to make a profit. Muzak, of course, Will make a vast improvement to the V & A. Muslims will move into Soho and close down the Coach and Horses.
Dear God, I just want to go to bed and Put my head under the duvet for a few months but even then the noises from the hospital would be so disconcerting. I was Much alarmed the other morning by a scream the likes of which I have never heard before. They specialise in kidney disorders in there and I guess it was some Poor sod passing a stone. I have only ever screamed once, oddly enough, out of despair, but the hospital scream made my hair stand up. Yes, He does move in Mysterious ways. My last wife once screamed in a pub when I suggested, 'One for the road?' I think I was repeating MYself. I see her point now but too late. Is there anything it isn't too late for?
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