Rimbaud hotel in Brussels. Munich Hitler tour. Determined to find some magic in Munich again, bring it back to life the way I did Brussels and Vienna last year.
When they come to make the museum of my life, of course there will be all my books, all my manuscripts, but all around it will be pictures of my wife. The great beauty of my life, the great love of my life. Without her my life would always have meant nothing; now I will always look back and think I had at least one good thing in my life.
LET ME JUST LOSE MYSELF IN PORNOGRAPHY MORE THAN EVER. CONSTANT PRIAPIC AROUSAL. ON THE BRINK OF IT ALL THE TIME. Depressed. Being in London is depressing. I realise without my wife there is not one single thing I want to be in London for. She was the only good thing here. Bored, sombre, depressed, just want to lie my head down to sleep again. That is all I do these days. No motivation to do anything else. I do love my bed so much. My ferns, my classical music, my books. Fragile. Bleak. This is how I start 20–.
I could do a Hitler tour of Munich couldn’t I, which would mean staying for at least 2 nights. Go see all those Beerhouses he used to hold his meetings in.
I think I will apply for euthanasia when I get older. The thought of being a little 60 or 70 year old man, all on my own, unable to heat my house properly, pension not even covering heating or food bills let alone paying back my tens of thousands of pounds of debt accrued from a lifetime of travelling. I wonder if you are allowed to go for euthanasia if you owe a lot of money? Can I pay for it on my credit card? I suppose that invalidates your life insurance as well; your loved ones won’t get that money if you elect to have yourself put down?