The Conversation

Stayed with D last night. Watched 'Starred Up' before retiring, an excellent, grueling film set in a British prison. D still has a healthily Larkinesque contempt for the Christmas spirit but he's in a good space at the moment, his photography and film work finally getting some deserved attention, and he's met a lovely woman too. He's all aglow and has even bought a Christmas tree. Good to see him in such good form. 
In the morning his house full of leaf-shadows and slanting sunbeams for the garden: very cosy.

In the early afternoon I called in on Pat (on my way back from Greystones) and he drove us off onto Bray hill, into some old estate near Winegates (or whatever it's called). He's got a jazz gig coming up in Martinique, not for a good while but they want publicity pics. I already did a shoot with him in Bullock Harbour but the bloke, thinking of Martinique no doubt, asked if he'd do it again, this time with some 'greenery' and a guitar. We had fun anyway, telling filthy jokes and laughing dementedly to get Pat to loosen up (I had a vision of innocent families out for a walk nearby suddenly doing rapid u-turns). 

Later in town (to get a new power cord for my old Mac laptop) I wandered up Nassau Street, where I saw this intimate-looking tableau in a cafe. Who knows? Maybe they were just comparing gift lists or fave TV programmes, or finalising their divorce. But I like the gestures and expressions, lit yet partly obscured by that curtain of Christmas lights. The scene reminds me of that great  1970s conspiracy movie, The Conversation.