Last night as I went to bed late with more extremely bitter, record-breaking cold outside, a little voice said, “Maybe you should leave a little water running so the pipes don’t freeze.” And then I went to sleep. This morning – no water. No water for washing, drinking, bathroom, none. I’m waiting for the magical John to come over and tell me what to do. Whatever it is, it will be inconvenient and cost money, because it’s my house we’re talking about. Love it as I do, this house specializes in expensive inconveniences that have to do with water. My last handyman told me, after watching the series of floodings, leaks and other disasters, that in a previous life I must have offended the water gods.
And now they have completely withdrawn my privileges.
Last night, before all this, was wonderful. Friends Annie and Jim and I went to Scott Freiman’s “Deconstructing the Beatles” at TIFF, an almost sold-out show full of film and sound footage and a stream of fascinating information about the early years of our boys. This man knows everything, and as I wrote to him later that night, telling him I’d bring him my book, “Your event is spectacular – your knowledge of music and history, the archival footage and tapes, the rare stuff, the detailed musical analysis, the gossip about personalities – delicious.”
Yes, I am going again tonight, for a deconstruction of Revolver. It’s too good to miss. Tonight IS sold out. There are a lot of fans out there, of all ages. How I wish they all knew about my book.
At TIFF I’ll be able to use the bathrooms – maybe a quick shower standing in a sink.