Aquarius 1° (January 22)
Today got off to a horrible start. We were awakened by the film crew just after four o’clock. It was insupportable. And of course this was the first day of holiday for the hotel manager with whom I’d already nurtured a relationship. Was a bummer. I called down to ask to speak to a manager and one wasn’t yet in. The crew had taken over. There was no reception, no morning breakfast room. Nobody answered the phone at room service. The desk said that breakfast was being set up somewhere on a different floor. I set out in search of answers and stumbled on two guys in suits one of whom said “morning sir, y’alright?” I said I’m looking for a manager and he pointed to the other guy who had pulled ahead and now spun on his heels. You’re the man I’m looking for said I. He said he hadn’t yet begun his day. That was lost on me. I started in on my noise complaint. He is about my height and, it might be a cultural thing—his name is Rachid and I’m assuming Algerian or some such—but he got right into my face. Not in a mean way, but he was definitely a close talker of the first kind and he wasn’t totally contrite, or so it seemed at the time. We went down to breakfast where they had set it up in this sort of ballroom sized hall, a buffet, but with pretty much all the same food one could order off the menu. We stockpiled some meats and cheese for A. who arrived about a half an hour later. We discussed packaging again for the most part as she wanted to prepare a brief for G. who will now be our new designer since the other folks have dragged their heels. Hard to believe that it is over nine months since we started a conversation with them; and it has been nearly four since I already said I think it might not be an auspicious arrangement. I have really felt held hostage by the situation, especially, as I was accused at the time of already having another person in place, which I didn’t, amid reassurances that everything could happen quickly. What I find especially irksome is that, though I care so (too) much about preserving our friendship, I feel the other bloke doesn’t give a flying fuck. Speaking of other blokes, what happened to Sebastian. Good question. Weird how people just flake off. Not to mention the recent exchange with Stefan the horrible. What a nutjob that jerk turned out to be. Next!
So I excused myself from breakfast a bit early as the subject turned to websites. I wanted to sneak in a swim, even a quick one, which I did. We then dressed and set off in a car to Soho for this meeting with the production company owned by C.M.. We got there a bit early so we strolled and popped into a magazine shop. Then we sent to the meeting, which was on Berwick Street, to which we were slightly early—they were just finishing up (eating). She herself was there which was astonishing, as were two associates, one being director of development. We were off and running. I won’t say much here about the content of the conversation because I probably really shouldn’t but there are a few takeaways we can discuss. First off, we were there because they are doing a show on theme of what we do for a living. C.M. is old school and a fan of Linda Goodman. It was her receptionist, who was out with a cold, apparently, who had a copy of Sextrology in her bag and told her bosses they should contact us. They would have looked us up and contacted our assistants, assuming we were in New York or L.A. or someplace domestic. Upon hearing from them, given who it is, we naturally assumed they were L.A. based. Turns out they are firmly, now, established in London. And, I’m sure murch to their surprise, we were also in London at the moment they wished to meet us. The next thing is the real kicker: The show idea they described is the exact show that we two had envisioned and talked about, some five years ago in Paris. But exactly the show. So the major takeaway is this: whatever happens at this point the fact is that the thoughtform of idea we put out there walking around Paris in 2025, excitedly describing the would-be show (that we could never make) to each other, managed to float through space and time and end up in the brain of one of the most successful and prolific producers of television there ever was. And we were brought in, seemingly on a whim, and while in the same city, all at the same time, an Uber away, to witness the next, and hopefully true, iteration of this very idea. So my lesson this week is in Faith. Faith that energy, like matter, can neither be created nor destroyed, and that our thought form of energy was indeed alive and it somehow made its way over the last five years through the ether. The meeting was an hour and we covered every bit of territory and we really liked each other and if nothing else I hope we made a friend.
We head out in a happy daze and work our way, en route to Liberty, to the Soho Hotel where we hope to have a drink and a snack, but they are not serving food, so we use the loo and leave. Because of our stay there a year ago November I remember how to work our way down Carnaby Street but we don’t get that far when S. spots Brindisa, where we stop for a few plates of tapas and a carafe of red wine. Really delicious. Then we head to Liberty and breeze through the jewelry section and see A.’s collection there of course. Post that, frustration ensues: We want to find the Atlantis bookshop on Museum Street but our Map apps are fucking with us and we end up in the landscape of hell which is Oxford Street and vow never again to do this. Jo raved about Atlantis so we had to go; but what we realize is that, whereas this type of shop might be unique in London, it is a pale comparison to any number of shops on this theme which we have encountered over the years in New York and Boston and Los Angeles. I had looked up the shop online and it typically yielded stories about how this shop has been in one family for generations, picturing mum and daughts. Well, when we got there, there they were mum and daughts and grand daughts. The shop gave me a weird vibe I have to say. These kinds of shops either feel good or weird, and this was a weird feel. I couldn’t wait to get out. We were close to Theobalds at that point and thus a very direct stroll up it to Rosebury Avenue and Exmouth Market, where I was just yesterday.
We stopped by our fave wine shop in the area for something to bring to Pascale and Matt’s. We then circled back to Exmouth and installed ourselves at Caravan for a tea and wine (guess who had which). And then it was time for dinner with the fam as Hen and Dot were there and there was a seventh space set at the table. Call Caroline for dinner, Pascale shouted at her children and we were like who is Caroline. Well, apparently Mary has a German friend from school in Eindhoven who has been living at Myddelton Square but we had no idea. She was very sweet. And Pascale made one of her signature delicious plant-based meals. S. and I had a little red, P. had a little white, M. is drinking non-alcoholic beer (m’ok); they asked if I had left a sports jacket in their bedroom cupboard. I was convinced I hadn’t, but yes it was mine—I totally forgot I brought this blazer with me, which I would have planned to wear at the end of a trip ending in major weight loss. I told Matt to try it on—he did—and it fit him perfectly. It is now his. It really felt like old times tonight and I just loved being able to have a family meal and be with people whom you know and who know you.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365 or 6 days per year—so they near but not exactly correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2019 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox