400

 I've done 400 of these blogs. 400 mostly unread diary entries. Thousands and thousands of words about my life over the last few years. All of the Covid stuff, every holiday, the stubbing of toes, the funerals, the films I made, the stories I published, my sulks, my illnesses, my professional jealousies, my fleeting happinesses. Happiness doesn't flicker through this blog as much as it should do, though it is my general condition. Happiness doesn't spur you on to write about it - you'd much rather carry on being happy. Being in the moment, as I believe people say now. 

Today I am happy. I watched an episode of The Avengers. I made a breakfast of bread, fried tomato, liquid wild garlic and raw garlic, finely chopped. It's my favourite breakfast. A day without garlic is barely worthy of the name. It rained all day but I didn't have to go outside so that was fine. I listened to the exemplary compilation album "English Weather" which I hadn't heard in years and may the best compilation album ever...compiled. I finally saw the raw footage - time coded and in some semblance of order - for my short film "Muirgen", and I think we have a shot at producing something conspicuously brilliant. I spoke at length with the editor on the phone and she understood what I want to do completely, and she can't wait to get started. She'll start cutting tomorrow if she can. Everyone involved in this film has been exemplary. Watching the rushes back reminded me of how fantastic the team were. A phenomenal experience. 

We're having tarragon chicken for dinner and I shall open the first bottle of wine of the new year. We'll watch a brilliant film (Susan's choice) and be happy all evening. The condemned man ate a hearty dinner. 

Tomorrow I'm having seven teeth removed. 

Seven. In one go. 

I mean...

My cheeks will cave in like a damp sandcastle, I shall be bleeding from suppurated, gummy wounds for the rest of the week and my dentist is billing me a phenomenal amount of money for this dubious service. I feel like I have an appointment with a paramilitary gang who are going to splinter my kneecaps, but even they don't normally charge you for the privilege. As far as I know. I don't want to give them ideas. 

There's no one to blame but myself - this unnecessary surgery was my idea. But really, seven? The dentist thinks he'll be done in an hour, which is ambitious, but I really hope he is. The last thing I want is for him to get five done and then say "Time's up. Make another appointment for the other two. I'll have a go at the buggers in the morning."

Best to get the ailing sods out now in a single, fell swoop. My biggest fear is falling down his steps. His practice is on the second floor and I'll have to negotiate his wide, tiled staircase, my jaw slack from anesthetic, mouth coppery with leaking blood, head frazzled in outrage at the horrors unleashed upon it, and I'll fall down those stairs and brain myself in his pristine reception area. I have a long history of falling down stairs and I don't much like it. Traditionally it hasn't gone well for me. 

So, I'm focusing on today's happiness. Good food, good wine, good company. The best company. Because tomorrow, well, there'll probably be enough complaint for another 400 blogs. 

This compilation album is GREAT.