Tuesday 7th April Chez Anibal

Everything feeling more than a little manic. In a slightly unfocussed way. Am making a short with Ana, La Cuenta, which we rehearsed yesterday afternoon. Then had another run, back in the ‘Parking’. Felt a bit blue, for the first time really a smidgeon of homesickness, which is the counterpart to a feeling of not quite belonging. Went to Anibal’s to collect a key, as am house sitting for him this week. We went out and drank some beer, I ate a milanesa, then we went to another bar and drank a couple of grappa miels. At the second bar we met a Cameroonian musician, a couple of Swiss girls, the man who wrote the song for Uruguay when they won the Copa America in 1916, and has since turned (or tried to turn) himself into a pseudo national icon, although he lives in Paris, the most far out political journalist I’ve ever come across, long hair, goatee, completely trolleyed, a similarly trolleyed female culture journalist, and other tipos. Walked back to Anibal’s, on a night as still as a still life, the Ciudad Vieja frozen by moonlight, slept like a baby.

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