Monday 13 October 2008

Pale Mourning in Moscow

This is from the Boss' archives/diary:

Four 4 hours I remember nothing at all and then fragments of memory start to emerge. I do feel surprisingly good, though I expect to pay for it later. And now I have to face the others.
"God was I wrecked last night!"
"And how," said Frances. This was a bad sign. What had I said? What had I done? Can I approach this cautiously? No!
"Was I... did I... you know... hmmm... did I do anything too dreadful?"
"Dymean did you jump on anyone?"
"No... Yes, ah..."
"No, you were surprisingly chaste-"
"Ah"
"But you did rave a lot about your sister and her Will or lack of one and you gave Vivian a good dressing down."
"Oh F***."
"F*** right. You told him to get his act together and to stop arsing about-"
"No more" I feel a bit ill.
"You want the truth AND sympathy?"
"No just a cappicino with a double shot."
"This is Moscow lover boy."
"F*** yes. I can't bear another Moscow breakfast."
"Where's Frankie?"
"The last I saw on him he was crashed out fully clothes on the spare bed in Jane's room."
"Huh huh."

And now the difficult part, "And Sylvia?"
"She's fine."
"You didn't?"
"No of course not." (Did I? Oh f*** I wish I could remember. I can just about remember the scene with Vivian it was after the fifth or sixth slug of vodka and-
"Good morning."
Oh f*** it's Petrova our culture guide.

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