A Web of Coincidence That Wouldn’t be Believed in Fiction

Saturday 3rd March 2018

Years ago in the 90s there was the Gay London Professionals. It was supposed to be respectable. Respectable Gays gathered for drinks on a Monday hoping to marry someone. But really they were bored and longing for fun. Once Edwina Curry came to inspect the Gay London Professionals. I saw her peering down at the Gays with fascination from a balcony where she’d been kettled exclusively before being released for her speech. Some grand Gay knew her somehow.

There I met Errol Snowden who came from Wales. He was a lawyer for a publisher and would recite the letters sent to those about to fall by the wayside: ‘Improvements have been spoken of and looked for but unfortunately have not been forthcoming.’ It was always the same words. I walked out vaguely with Errol for a while but he preferred another who was more fun. I was already married, of course, but didn’t know it at the time. Errol’s home was in the residence of a fabulous Poor Little Rich Gay known to Robert Nevil and huge in the book world who was actually in a menage a trois – wife and children plus male companion all under one roof. Later, after I’d lost touch with Errol he met Reggie Cresswell, possibly at night-time (don’t misunderstand: there was nothing improper: they were just out at night). So Errol has occasionally been seen at functions. Dimly I was aware that he had come to live near me, Adrian Edge. Then in January I bumped into him outside the Turkish Shop (now Indian). Yes, indeed. He’s been three streets away for the last eight years. He’s also joined the book world as a producer and got huge. Finally the other Friday when I couldn’t find anybody to accompany me to the Jonas Kauffman concert at the Barbican, there he was by the self-check-out in Waitrose. So bizarre. Eight whole years and nothing. Then twice, the second time when I’ve got a spare ticket.

So we took the Jonas Kauffman concert. Simeon Bond was there, of course, but not spoken to. Also a few others who were. Errol said someone had seen me another time. Someone who knows everyone and supplies to the book world. He showed me a picture of this person and I knew the face but I don’t know why nor why this person knows me, Adrian Edge. I’ve always longed for world fame, as you know, but really it’s rather creepy when it comes and people know you and have seen you when you didn’t know you were being seen. The next thing was: we were walking back to our respective neighbouring streets, and somehow Errol mentioned someone who lives in my street with a black dog. Oh yes, I said, I had a flaming row with him when that dog wee-ed my doorstep. Well, it’s Errol’s best friend. Perhaps it’s best to live at the bottom of a well and never go out.

 

 

Posted Saturday, March 3, 2018 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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