25 May - Hemingway where are thou?

Something must be wrong. Here I am in London town and can't be arsed with movies, exhibitions, events and the like. Neither am I ready for a retreat to the country but surely this is an unusual state. Can't wait for Dear John to land back in town from work exile in Dublin and start his b'day shenaningans on Friday. Bet he'll stay up all night prior to catchinga flight back to southern Ireland. I badly want an all-nighter too but the reality is that I can't hack them. Somewhere around hour 4 of any given party evening, I will think that they are interesting enough but not mind blowingly so and I'll make my excuses and leave. Clearly what I'm failing to do is imbibe enough stimulants to get a different perspective, but... I can't physically drink more than 4 glasses of anything. Had I lived in Hemingway's time and sphere of action, I'd probably never have met him as would have left Harry's bar long before he arrived for the night... It's like when people come back with tales of extreme drinking/fun in countries where they literally go mad on the stuff, like Iceland and all I can recall from one of my visits there is nothing of the sort. Having been sober doesn't serve my memory any better either as couldn't remember a name of anyone met on that trip. What's the point of going anywhere if you can't really recall it unless you look at the photos?