Smiling in Slow Motion

NOVEMBER

NOVEMBER Tuesday 2 HB led us a dance about his birthday. He made such a fuss about not getting presents that he ensured he was given them by all his friends and admirers. Then, in the middle of the day, he knocked down the wall between the bathroom and the living room, to make a bathroom cupboard so I don't hit my head on the shelves again. The noise was indescribable! I went to Richard's to escape and fell asleep on his sofa. In the evening we all went to Keith's show, Brenda, Maggie, good old friends. Wednesday 3 I'm on some appetite-inducing pills. I don't know if they are helping. Certainly, if you can't eat you become obsessed with food. I cast my eye across the menus of various restaurants with a feeling of hopelessness. The prices these days. Amalfi: £24 for a second-string Italian meal, you can eat for half that in Wheeler's. Everything is at sixes and sevens. Michelle and Tania took me to the Ivy. I didn't eat much, a sorbet and potted shrimps. James took me to Alastair Little's, where I managed a sorbet. The Japanese sushi is the easiest, the Tokyo Diner the most reasonable of all the restaurants; you can get a meal there for £7. Friday 5 Nick, Julian, Tania came to Dungeness. Peter came later with fireworks. We did a little gardening, clearing the vegetable beds. Tania cooked. We waited for Derek who never showed. I tried to paint but I couldn't see. Made HB a birthday picture. I must go and get a new prescription in my spectacles as everything has gone fuzzy. Saturday 6 It's the morning of the 6th. Tania and Peter have gone to collect the fiendishly wealthy Derek Ball - who is making £100,000 a year picking 382 NOVEMBER colours. Nick and Julian are gardening in the cold. George Crumb piano works in the end room . . . Quiet. Although I accept all this it's terrible to be so ill and fragile. Wednesday 10 We went to more theatre. Leigh Bowery as Madame Garbo the Siberian piano teacher in a brown leather outfit and a slaughter of foxes. Leigh was the brightest acting of the week. Pascal Brannan's lama Bee was gentle and charming - though I couldn't for the life of me understand why he wanted to do it. Performance art has the quality of silence, which makes it more attractive than the theatre, which is so noisy. Tuesday 16 The Tate threw a smashing lunch in its boardroom, my painting on the wall, lots of charming friends: Richard Hamilton, Nick Logsdail, John and Anya Sainsbury, Tilda, Neil Tennant, Robert Medley, it couldn't have been nicer. Everyone enjoyed themselves and Nick Serota made a speech. It was sad when we all had to leave, but I made a date with Nico for lunch. Life is becoming increasingly difficult, even to pick up a phone. I sit all day overwhelmed by a terrible inertia. I can't see much, so, for instance, Ken's article about the paintings in Vogue, out yesterday, had to be read to me by Nicky. I can just make out the photos of the paintings. Professor Pinching thinks I'm probably not as ill as I think, which is encouraging. Dr Lynn said: 'We are not going to lose you that easily,' though I think my life is drawing to a close. Saturday 20 It snowed in Dungeness. A sudden unexpected letter from the Reverend Ford saying both HB and I can be buried at Old Romney. This has set my mind at rest. Tuesday 23 We recorded the Camp Christmas programme with Andy Bell and a group of wild comics, the depths of our dislike for this family event was hardly disguised. It's not easy for gay people to enjoy Christmas, the two don't mix, so the programme should lift a few eyebrows and melt the icicles. 383 SMILING IN SLOWMOTION Friday 26 My mind knocked sideways with illness. Strange fantasies and dreams - I was wondering what the world was like before the concept of antiquity, which must have altered everything. The old stone at the bottom of the street was just an old stone, no one thought twice about it. When it became a Neolithic parking post it must have changed...