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Grade one
We've got a new housemate, who seems sociable and unproblematic, and Trina has taken me on a surprise treat night out at the Midland Hotel, a Grade II* listed Art Deco hotel. It would have normally been 190 quid a night but Trina got it for 80. Great architecture, modern Italian furniture, real wood, a miraculously spiralled cantilevered staircase which is really a miracle. How does it hold on? Concrete, again. It unnerves me that you like me to the extent of taking me here. I can't reciprocate this, you realise? Neither financially nor in depth of feeling.
All my girls were in a music and dance showcase thing at their school, which inconveniently started two hours after a seminar at the Uni on "The Spectral Finance of New York." I roamed around the Uni, confused by the endlessly rearranged departments, then espied the bloke who supervised me for the last term of my MA and who introduced me to a world of art theory that I wish I'd had time to pursue, sitting in an over-illuminated room with a couple of other people I vaguely know, so I scraped in through a brush-dampened door, late, made an apologetic nod, and sat down.
The seminar was brilliant. I loved how he veered from the quotidian to the literary in his language within long sentences that tilted from the empirical to the imagistic. By "loved" I mean, that delicious skin-stroking sensation of ideas that are almost, not quite, within my grasp.
I sat in the girls' performance afterwards reliving the hot rush of speed-fuelled embarrassment I felt when I'd chimed in with the debate afterwards. Two things argue for precedence in my head: one, the tumbling sociable sense of wanting to talk, the other, my shadow self trying to control it. I gabbled a rambling comment out and left its soggy mess on the table for him to rearrange and make coherent. I stared at his glasses, over-keen, needy.
Teenage girls in leotards were dancing to Beyoncé and Gloria Gaynor. It's OK, you're not as important to others as you imagine you are. And anyway, people sometimes like muddled thinking. It lowers the bar.
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