The LaPorte Dreamworks bio is straightforward but good. About 40 pages of chapter notes and quote attributions because the author has written about Disney
and Michael Ovitz
and David Geffen. More and more I find myself admiring works not so much for what they are but what they had to get through - the lawyering over the book must have been incredible. Significantly it has no photos, I assume because the subjects wouldn't grant permission. So, well done, Ms LaPorte, and
adios.
The Booth novel will be a George Clooney movie soon; I can see why. J.D. Salinger - he's pretty good.
Summer has finally hit London and the city is pale and reeling. It's all 1940s dresses and aviator shades and Doc Martens up north - and the women are dressing up, as well.
The Enforcer was on late. Refrigerator moment this morning with the ms: realised something, scribbled two new pages but can't face typing them up. Too much time in front of the screen. Sunday, maybe.
Tres fatigue and every time I get up to speed there's some shit message from the old country to bring me right back down. So off drinking, then. And no, not warm beer, and I don't know anything much about wine - I'm
vin de table and voddy right down the line. My mother once said (= yelled) that you can't have champagne tastes on a beer income, and both the statement and its rhythm stuck.