Why this is hell nor am I out of it

Really shouldn't be allowed to drink this much gin. Makes me terribly morose.

Out of the Depths...

I've been having an enormously self-indulgent attack of the post-holiday/looming birthday/lack of having "done something" with my life blues this last week, hence I've refrained from writing anything.

I did try to write about Beslan but I don't have the words. Looking at the pictures here (link from Brad) is still nearly enough to move me to tears. Fuckit, it is enough to move me to tears. One faint glimmer amid the gloom is provided by the Grand Mufti of Chechnya:

"The Mufti of Chechnya has some strong words for these terroristis. In his denounciation of their act he refers to them as "terrorist-criminals" who have "once again shown their beastly face". He stated that these "terrorist-criminals" are people without a religion and definately are not muslim. Those who know Islam would not use the word together with "terrorism" in the same sentence, he said, because "Islam is a great religion, which calls onto its followers to commit good to others people and nations".

"Muslims of Chechnya are ready to do whatever is necessary to help free the hostages", he underlined."

It all puts my own non-problems in rather sharp perspective of course, though it doesn't help with my continued deeply pessimistic concerns over the slippery slope to hell we all seem to be on. Right at the moment I reckon we're in 1912, for about the third time. Apart from Russia, which continues with its remarkable impression of Germany shortly before 1933. (Brad also makes that comparison, but I'm pretty sure I said something of the sort a long while ago.)

Ho hum.

Last night was a cocktail party courtesy of Alan and attended by Steph, Rob, Katy, Dr D, A., Joff and various others including K and others not appearing in this 'ere medium, mainly to celebrate birthdays for Alan, Steph, and A.; and DrD and Katy's anniversary. Also attended by someone who was one of my closest friends before they sank out of sight for a year and a half: something to which I'm still adjusting.

I (and Joff, and to-be-Mrs Joff) had previously been drinking for the birthday of another friend from a completely different context, so we arrived late, though in plenty of time for cocktails. To be honest, though, while cocktails are all well and good in their place, I find my enthusiasm wanes fairly swiftly. Hence the retreat to gin, and my descent to new depths of gloominess on the cab-ride home. Being deliberately barged by a twat on a completely empty street at three AM when walking to my flat (I asked the cabbie to drop me at Camden, otherwise they always seem to get confused and whack on a heinous extra amount) didn't raise my spirits.

What did raise my spirits was neglecting to clean the flat today in favour of (a) lying on Primrose Hill fine-tuning my suntan until 3 and then (b) Proms: Schoenberg Variations for Orchestra, Beethoven 9, Berlin Phil, CBSC, Sir Simon Rattle. An utterly stupendous 9th (and the Schoenberg was pretty good too) probably the best I've ever heard and undoubtedly the concert of the season.

Unfortunately, I have to work tomorrow... foolishly agreed since I was to be in a particular gloomy London County Court and some kind of diary cockup had meant someone else was in difficulties with their planned hearing in the same court earlier in the day to take their case as well. Which means I have to spend the whole day there. Every silver lining has a cloud.

(Ignore me).