Another year

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I had a large club full of unknown people singing happy birthday to me last night. It was fun. From there, they all seemed to know me, so I got lots of hugs and kisses. It was a big gay bar call the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Not my usual haunt, but there is a whole new thing starting there with Jazz nights and so on. My friend, Gilly, was singing there and it was great. She was fabulous. A real star. Having known her for a while, but never having seen her perform, it was extraordinary to see that side of her. So vibrant and big and fantastic. A rare treat. I was also taken to a nototious, not my words, gay bar arouond the corner. Naughty pictures and a smoky rather desultory tuesday evening atmosphere, it was fun to be out and late. Not how I usually spend my time.
I pay the price now, with total tiredness. I have a bad reaction to tiredness in extremis: I always want to cry. but I can’t cry today, it is my birthday. Some primal part of me thinks it will be bad luck to cry now. So I keep breathing and turning away and sucking the watery tears back in. I have still got to get throug today and tomorrow with shoots, people, being the decisive one, (not entirly true, thank God for my assistant), and so I am working hard on my language about how I feel. I have dropped the word INCREDIBLE from my vocabulary. I know, it seems so harmless, but it denies the illusion of reality. I don’t want to do that. I like my reality. A lot.