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Twelfth night

Quite terrible ones - especially after such a good day: The Twelfth Night celebrations at Bankside were excellent and daft as ever. One poor little boy feared that the mummers would eat him...they did look somewhat insane, though if a child could be put in fear of this Obby Oss,
https://24.media.tumblr.com/30aa1e046f8dba07d2535b748d33fa02/tumblr_myz6z5q34v1sgbqjmo3_1280.jpg we can only be relieved that Mr Punch did not put in an appearance. There was also something rather splendid about the Green/Holly/Berry Man being rowed down the Thames yelling 'Wassail!' at the baffled crowds. I liked it, the moss covered roof of the Globe and the torches on the river. Next time I'll do it in proper fashion, with lunatic hat and frying pan.

The evening was warm and pleasant. But then I slept, and dreamed that I had accidentally killed a lady I used to know at the studio. She was very harmless indeed - made excellent cakes as I recall - but in my dream, I cut her throat by accident. larians and I hid her body...and we moved house. We moved three times, across a sort of US/UK land. Sometimes I had killed the lady, sometimes I had killed the man who attacked me, sometimes both. We had buried him/her in the garden. Just once, a policeman glanced towards where we had buried the victim, but we had dug up so much around the house, it looked very ordinary. We were asked questions but that was all.

But it doesn't matter. Tonight is twelfth night, the fool's season. And dreams or no dreams, this will be a better year.

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