7387/19907
I have done well on avoiding chocolate since Christmas but last night I had some kind of breakdown that made me eat a Cadbury’s creme egg just before bedtime. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t even really like them that much. And it’s not a supper food.
I was high on the adrenaline of performance and just wanted an extreme version of the drug I love. A creme egg is the chocolate equivalent of arm heroin.
I had quite vivid dreams (are creme eggs the cheese of the chocolate world?) and then woke up at 3am in the kind of panic I sometimes used to experience after a night of boozing. I was unsettled and felt like I was losing my mind and didn’t get to sleep til about 5am. At which point Ernie woke up and got into bed with me.
I was unable to distinguish between dream and reality for the next hour and a half. I feel like Ernie had a nightmare and told me that he was unable to put what had happened into words, but I think that was a dream. And when the kids’ alarm clocks went off, I heard them, but didn’t wake up and dreamt that I went into their rooms to look at the clocks and tried to work out why they had gone off at 5.40am. They hadn’t. It was 6.30 (which unbelievably is the time we wake up these days) but I had just incorporated the noise into my dream as I struggled to wake up.
Who knows what is dream and what is reality now?
I can eat one creme egg without spiralling back into chocolate addiction. I can handle it.
Delighted to be bringing RHLSTP to Wells in May. Don’t know who the guest will be yet. I spent a lot of time in Wells as a child and young man and had many happy and illegal trips to the Regal cinema, that I googled today. It shut down as a cinema many years ago now, but has Grade II listing and continued as a night club. There were some photos of the interior that only lightly sparked memories - I’d forgotten there was a balcony. I had my first proper snog with my first girlfriend in the back row of the downstairs bit, but we were innocent fools. When I tried to use a bit of tongue she thought it was an accident and laughed and stopped the whole thing. We were such tiny lambs. Actually she was literally lamb. We do things differently in Somerset.
In that room a man (or boy) shouted “pert nipples” at an actress in The Other Cinderella and forty years later I still think of that often. Him and the Frenchman who banged on the roof or our tent when we were holidaying in Minehead and shouted “You can keep your bloody shitty mouths closed” are my favourite complete strangers from the 1980s.
