1991 - Winter
On Christmas day I became eighty-three, but managed to ignore the fact by visiting friends and eating other people's food.
I have had lunch with two charming young ladies who are working for an English movie company which is planning to produce a film version of Orlando, . . If this improbable venture ever actually comes to pass, I will be transported to Amsterdam for two weeks of next month. There is a Quentin Hotel on that notorius city. On seeing the same, a friends of mine entered the lobby and asked the propreitress if the establishment was so called in honour of me, to which they replied, 'But of course.'
My reason for travelling, in spite of the weather, to the upper reaches of Seventh Avenue was to undergoe a medical examination at the hands of a Dr Benson on behalf of Adventure Pictures, the company hat is proposing to make Orlando, . . Whn I was in mr Sting's film, The bride, no such ordeal was forced upon me.
Not only does it seem likely that I will play the part of Elizabeth I in a highbrow movie, but even in real life I am beginning to resemble English royalty in that, in recent years, I have celebrated my real birthday on Christmas Day quietly with friends who live on Fourth Street, and a state birthday whenever one of Manhattan's party-givers sees fit. Last Saturday I went to the Palladium for a public birthday.
Last Friday, with trembling feet, I made my way to the Warner Building in Rockefeller PLaza to record an assortment of English verses by various poets from Edward Lear to Edith Sitwell. . . I was asked to do it and offered money, so I could hardly refuse.
The next day, like You-Know-Who, I rested, but on Sunday I went to Boston - again! . . The purpose of this second excursion was the same as the first - to introduce beforehand and to try to justify afterwards two showings of Resident Alien. . . The questions asked of me were all friendly, but more or less a matter of routine, except that one young man wanted to know what I would have done with my life if I had been under no obligation to earn money. I replied that I would never have gotton out of bed. Everybody seemed delighted with this notion.
I have had lunch with two charming young ladies who are working for an English movie company which is planning to produce a film version of Orlando, . . If this improbable venture ever actually comes to pass, I will be transported to Amsterdam for two weeks of next month. There is a Quentin Hotel on that notorius city. On seeing the same, a friends of mine entered the lobby and asked the propreitress if the establishment was so called in honour of me, to which they replied, 'But of course.'
My reason for travelling, in spite of the weather, to the upper reaches of Seventh Avenue was to undergoe a medical examination at the hands of a Dr Benson on behalf of Adventure Pictures, the company hat is proposing to make Orlando, . . Whn I was in mr Sting's film, The bride, no such ordeal was forced upon me.
Not only does it seem likely that I will play the part of Elizabeth I in a highbrow movie, but even in real life I am beginning to resemble English royalty in that, in recent years, I have celebrated my real birthday on Christmas Day quietly with friends who live on Fourth Street, and a state birthday whenever one of Manhattan's party-givers sees fit. Last Saturday I went to the Palladium for a public birthday.
Last Friday, with trembling feet, I made my way to the Warner Building in Rockefeller PLaza to record an assortment of English verses by various poets from Edward Lear to Edith Sitwell. . . I was asked to do it and offered money, so I could hardly refuse.
The next day, like You-Know-Who, I rested, but on Sunday I went to Boston - again! . . The purpose of this second excursion was the same as the first - to introduce beforehand and to try to justify afterwards two showings of Resident Alien. . . The questions asked of me were all friendly, but more or less a matter of routine, except that one young man wanted to know what I would have done with my life if I had been under no obligation to earn money. I replied that I would never have gotton out of bed. Everybody seemed delighted with this notion.