HONEST REPORTS, DAY BY DAY FROM QUARANTINE HOTEL, HOLIDAY INN HEATHROW (TO SEE DAY FIVE )
OR. A NASTY GAS ATTACK
I woke at five again after having another shit nights sleep. My stomach was rumbling and bloated and before long really smelly farts started coming. I am not normally a gassy person and this was rank. I couldn’t go back to sleep again and could barely stay in my smelly Egyptian linen pit. The culprit? Curry.
Every bloody day food turns up in curry form. At the beginning it wasn’t a problem because I was eating so little as I was so depressed but sometimes when a friend contacts you to say that she’s going to drop off wine and Sleepeeze you feel a little hope and you regain your appetitive a tad. Big mistake for there was chicken breast with curry sauce and rice also smothered in it and a naan bread that had been in line of fire with a dousing of some vile premade concoction. I cared not for I was to be delivered tomorrow with supplies and had said I would dance on the hillock in my fluorescent green Maya Riviera top as she drove past in gratitude.
Sadly the best laid plans and all that. They are now being put in the post and the wine will be from room service still. I think maybe she was a little pissed when she made these wild promises (she initially wanted to bring me two cases of wine) and this morning a sad little text arrived begging off. In a strange way I was relieved for I feel I would have got smashed and insulted security and we wouldn’t want that now would we?
However I digress. The Delhi belly is still bubbling away and my futile attempts to get them to just fucking substitute rice with potatoes or salad and not plonk curry on every dinner that leaves the kitchen, have been futile and I suspect now I will be indirectly punished for this.
Also the bright sunny day promised on the weather hasn’t materialised and I am wring this perched on the corner of my bed nearest the door to get a signal. Although I made a big effort today and had a bath and washed my hair I sadly now feel thwarted and bored again just when I thought I had improved slightly.
They are very stubborn here and the insane protocols have made people fastidiously stupid. I am determined to go downstairs now for a fag and if I shit my jimjams it’ll be their fault.
When I spoke with Paul (liaison man) yesterday I was told that he had basically been putting out fires at other hotels where the security had become over zealous or words to that effect. I wonder what that means? Have they been clubbing their ‘guests’ to death. Just saying. I must ask him when I next see him. They all are very open about considering these places like prisons and most have the decency to be shame faced. My ambition for yoga in the sun has been rudely squashed by my intestinal predicament.
Now the day yawns before me interminably and I’m back to square one mentally. Just told the medic on the phone who tried to be difficult with me and I said it’s part of their job to make sure the diet is not affecting the wellbeing of the inmates!
The stupid stupid WiFi isn’t working again even near the door so I can’t do any research for my actual Mayan history research. I have lost the will to press zero on the bloody phone again to ask … hang on the door!
So a lovely medic called Camillo just had a long chat and was completely in agreement with me. I care not if people are spies now you have to branch out and speak to the one person who isn’t Indian security. He bad mouthed the whole system too so if you grass me up Camillo my darling I shall return the favour. You see how nasty and suspicious this whole global hoax has made people? This splitting of a society with lies and fear propaganda has nearly done it’s job. I say nearly, as more of the sleepers are finally awakening. The ones deeply entrenched with this evil plan are usually the ones gaping at TV and reading bullshit mass media. The softly endearing term ‘auntie’ for the BBC hides a highly organised criminal cabal in its lace petticoats.
I’m going to order a glass of vino and hope for the best with my tummy.
Room service not answering. Are they banning me because I complained about their shitty food? You really must not get between a girl and her glass of inferior Shiraz my friends be warned. OK.
I just got through. Lucky for them you don’t want to see the carnage if I don’t get a glass by lunchtime in this prison.
All is well it’s arrived. I’m going back to bed as there’s nothing else to do. Seeing as you can’t open any windows here it’s a nightmare to air out the residual smells, including those from a curry gas attack. After going downstairs and reentering my room I was mighty pleased I wasn’t entertaining that night. Phew what a pong.
TO SEE DAY SEVEN
OVER AND OUT FROM AN UNPLEASANT GAS BAG.
Soho art offices and my sculpture in London, then my old film work amd fashion modelling. Check it out.