Driven to distraction

Noted: if one is attempting to retain maximum attentiveness throughout a three-hour class on archival appraisal, one should not bring along Derek Jarman's Dancing Ledge to read beforehand and then accidentally leave it lying open once said class begins. It's the rare lecture that can compete with passages like this one:

When Nureyev announced he was ready we walked into the room to find him naked, drying himself from a shower. I was even more unprepared for this and didn't know which way to turn my eyes. Blushing, I introduced myself and hesitantly showed him the costume. My hesitation was like a red flag to a bull. He picked up the costume and pinched the material nonchalantly between his fingers, before dropping it with disdain. He looked at me mockingly, and said the material was awful. Then rubbing himself suggestively with the towel he lectured me on tights, and said that it would be wasting his time trying them on. He had a perfect pair which he'd brought back from Switzerland. Then looking me slowly up and down he said -- 'Well.'

To say nothing of:

Patrick Procktor asked me to spend a few days with him at Tony Richardson's house in the South of France. We flew to Nice and drove to the old house, which is deep in a pine forest. We arrived as Mick Jagger left, and Patrick, who knew the place, rushed ahead. I discovered him in the guest-room lying on Mick's unmade bed. "This is mine," he said, "and there's no need to change the sheets."