Monday September 8th
I fear we have a quiet week ahead of us.
We failed to secure much of the equipment we returned to London for, and had to place an order. They have guaranteed a delivery within the week, but having dealt with these people before, I am not holding my breath. We can do little until the replacement gear arrives, and so today was spent looking at the budget, and making sure that we can absorb this latest and quite expensive inconvenience.
Tuesday September 9th
Ditto. Today we realised we will have to eat into our publicity budget.
We went to the director to inform him of this, and he was not happy.
‘What’s the point of making a fucking invisible force field if no one gets to see it?’ was one of his more memorable lines from, what I must admit was a rather foul mouthed tirade. When he finally calmed down he said something about possibly getting some extra funding from ‘Ralps’, who I presume is a good friend of his.
I began to wonder if the director could be Mr Parkes, but as all his work was done on a computer I had little chance of assessing his handwriting.
In the oncoming days I need to trick him into using a pen.
Wednesday September 10th
With little to do, and in an attempt to calm Kyps agitated state, I suggested a trip to the Seaside, and so we went to Bournemouth.
A strange town, but the seaside none the less. Kyp seemed to relax a little, presumably because he had an excuse to indulge his ice cream fixation.
I’m told that Bournemouth is the ‘club’ capital of the south West coast. What this means I do not know, although after witnessing the good burghers of the town I can imagine that cudgels might be involved.
Thursday September 11th
A day that has recently become heavy with history.
It is our generations Kennedy assassination. We all remember where we were when it happened. I was in Finchley, which to tell you the truth is bad enough.
However I ended up in Brixton via Soho. I met a couple of anarchist friends of mine outside the tube station at Brixton, and they had spent the day protesting outside an arms fair. They were slightly upset that someone had pissed on their firework in such a spectacular fashion. I seem to remember telling them not to worry, and there will be many more arms fairs to come for them to show off their personal protesting élan.
I spent today trying to trick ‘The director’ into signing a cheque, not only to aid our ailing finances, but also to get a look at his handwriting.
However it was to no avail, as he hid behind his power book like a tin pot dictator hides behind a tin pot.
Still no more communications from Lucas Parkes, maybe our cessation of activities has left him bored. Still, I do not feel like I have heard the last of him yet.
Friday September 12th
A report in the paper today lead to a row with Kyp. Since we are still waiting on our equipment to arrive, we spent a leisurely breakfast reading the papers.
I was happy to read that the London black out was caused by an engineer replacing a humble a one-amp fuse with a faulty one at a sub station. No terrorists armed with Tesla coils or the like, just the normal human error. Kyp didn’t take kindly to this and claimed that I was merely being duped by the press, and in turn the industrial /military complex, and that yet again I had proved myself to be a fool to believe anything that I read in the papers. He did his usual diatribe about manufacturing consent and left the breakfast table in a huff in search of an early morning ice cream.
I have started noticing this about Kyp, that in times of agitation he tends to eat ice cream.
After I had finished the reading the paper I wandered to the lab to find Kyp with a tub of Vienetta and a forlorn face and prodding the lifter with a stick.
I decided enough was enough and caught an early train back to London, hoping that the following week would deliver us our equipment and be far more productive.