10 June - Friends, who needs more?

Forgot to add this little coda...Back from cork and they were a lovely bunch, some I knew, some I didn’t. I didn’t make any efforts funnily enough with the ones who looked like I wouldn’t much have anything in common with (the mere sight of what I call hippy fields at Glastonbury attire, you know, loose loons, long dreadlocked hair wrapped in scarves, a roll up constantly in her hands etc) and nor did I make any with Dear John’s new girlie, nor she with me. Not in a deliberate way but it never so happened we had anything to say to each other. Some never turned up, especially the ones who only had to drive some hundred miles or so from Dublin. You’d think you wouldn’t miss a 4oth after b’day boy has gone to the trouble to rent you a house and buy food, but… some people still cry out at the last moment. Wonder if he, like me, would have them banished to the ‘You fucked up and am afraid it’s not forgivable’ box..
But I wonder how’s it possible to have a good time with people and absolutely no desire to call them up or buddy up afterwards? Is there a sort of finite space in one’s diary for all of this? It’s sort of mutual as it’s not like I’m fielding off calls from any of them wanting to meet up. And Dear Sophie and I have more than a few things in common for example, including various other friends. It’s possible though that even those various other friends are no longer that tight.