Sorry about last night — no Dear Diary. There’s a reason, and it’s called night-time. I am too old to be writing after dark; all I can think about is me, which is not a very interesting topic. To me, anyway — and last night, in a New Year’s burst of candor, I couldn’t be bothered to try. I know that I’m going to have to swim very hard against the tide of everyday life if I’m going to write up what I’ve been thinking about (not me) during the day-time, preferably in the morning.

The only reason I’m up now is the reason why I’m writing. I want to make a note of something sweet. The new neighbor across the hall, approaching me in stages too delicate to recapitulate, asked to borrow a chair. A chair! She and her husband are giving their first dinner party, and they were short one chair. Although we’re not exactly stocked with the sort of chair that you just lend out, I couldn’t say no. “When you’re through with it,” I said, “just knock — we’ll be home.” Kathleen is of the opinion that they’ll think that their party has broken up too late to disturb us, and that we’ll get the chair back tomorrow.

When I stuck my head into the hallway a few minutes ago, the party was still going strong. It’s a dinner party, definitely — just a few voices, not the babble of a party party. But a good times is being had by all.

Doubtless because my loan was one of our Eddie Monsoon chairs.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 15th, 2010 at 11:59 pm and is filed under Gotham Diary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.