It has been relatively quiet these past two days. No big news - Diggler did not respond to my letters demonstrating that he is a liar and a crook, but I did not really expect him to. The one major ongoing issue is that of the movers - he thinks I am still in London. Since Cina told me about this I have been a little worried that I might come back to the apartment at some point and find Diggler or one his cronies packing my underwear into big bags...but that has not happened thankfully and if all goes well I can get my stuff sent out of here tomorrow morning without unwelcome interference. I do lock the apartment from the inside though - just in case.

So instead of dealing with this crap I decided to go on a culture/art/flower therapy. Yesterday I went to a Matisse exhibition, a very small one presenting his late work: stuff that he painted during the ten or so years after he had almost died and today I did a day-trip to Giverny, Monet's old house that has these amazingly beautiful gardens featured in many of his paintings. The weather was beautiful and I felt a bit like while I was travelling last year. I had to deal with the little menial challenges of the road: as I was about to jump on the train to Vernon, the small town in Normandy just next to Giverny, my sandal broke so once I got to this sleepy town spent about 45 minutes trekking through the streets barefoot to find a shop that was open. I forgot that in the country shops still close between noon and 2 pm so it took a while before I found the one supermarket that was open anyway where I could conspicuously exchange my broken shoes for a pair of cheap slippers.

OK! At this point, as I was drafting this post Cina showed up informing me that Diggler was going to show up tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. with the movers. I knew the f*ckin quiet was justquiet before the storm. Damn. I have been serenely packing my stuff and was almost done but now I just do not know how to handle the situation. The problem is that even though he has no right to throw me out of this apartment and I have every right to tell him to fuck off or even call the police (which was the useless piece of advice I got from Tom on the phone to me from some loud strip club in Budapest where he is having his stag night right now) but I don't see myself involving the police. Ernest, Tom's personal assistant, a chirpy Australian ex-cook just texted me that he could come over but of course there is no train that will get him here on time. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cina's first advice was that I should leave with instructions as to where he should send my stuff and come back a couple of hours later once he is gone. But I feel that I need to stay just to make sure that everything goes to the right place and he doesn't screw with my stuff. Besides, this is unheard of, a violation of my privacy, an intrusion into my life, all that but this intellectualizing does not help me. The bastard will be here in about 7 hours and I am stuck as to what to do. I wish I was freakin' Uma Thurman from Kill Bill (the movie that has accompanied my packing) HELP!!!!!!!!!