Survived Anton's stag weekend. Friday night was good -- it just being Anton and I wandering around Brighton dropping randomly into bars and ingesting a Chinese meal in about fifteen minutes. Back to his place and we listened obsessively to reggae and earnestly talked nonsense till late.
Woke up feeling decidedly ropey the next morning, with the sinking knowledge that half a dozen guys were going to want to go mad for it that very afternoon. Anton who was on the phone to Anna had to break off his conversation to hurl up his headache pills. After he and I had drunk lots of coffee, Young Nick and then the rest of the boys duly turned up and we set about drinking our way around Brighton all over again. I find these cat herding sessions quite difficult. Maybe it was because I'm the oldest of the group I appointed myself the sensible one and negotiated for us when the need arose. Fortunately we all made it home safely and I spent the night on a lilo waking up intermittently and seeing with clarity that I needed to not to do this again for a while. And reflecting on how Brian, one of our party, chose the stag to come out to me too -- but there you go. I felt proud of him.
Next day Brighton pier was on fire again and Anton Young Nick and I went to see it smoulder after the others had left. Anton looking green as we walked past a fish and chip shop. Eventually I got my act together enough to leave. As it was Sunday the train appeared to go via Cornwall to reach London. I reached home and Mrs Kenny after what seemed like an eternity. I felt sordid.
I brought an album called happy sad by Tim Buckley in Brighton on a whim and have been spellbound by it since.
Work has been unspeakable since Monday. There has been a rearrangement of my part of the agency. Politically I don't know if this is good or bad thing yet. But where I once had space and clarity, the office has now lots more people in it and I am surrounded by crates full of junk. I feel demotivated. Still, I attended an excellent session today brainstorming embarrassment.
Bicycled yesterday and swam today in an attempt to redress some of this weekend's abuse.
Managed to finish the poem for Anna and Anton in time for the registrar to approve it for their wedding. It must not mention god. Also have a poem on Poetry Superhighway this week in their holocaust rememberance day issue.
Stupid home computer not working properly and have been unable to receive email for some time -- although the server is now dribbling ancient email at me. I'm certain some has been lost for good.
Bed calls now with some force.
Woke up feeling decidedly ropey the next morning, with the sinking knowledge that half a dozen guys were going to want to go mad for it that very afternoon. Anton who was on the phone to Anna had to break off his conversation to hurl up his headache pills. After he and I had drunk lots of coffee, Young Nick and then the rest of the boys duly turned up and we set about drinking our way around Brighton all over again. I find these cat herding sessions quite difficult. Maybe it was because I'm the oldest of the group I appointed myself the sensible one and negotiated for us when the need arose. Fortunately we all made it home safely and I spent the night on a lilo waking up intermittently and seeing with clarity that I needed to not to do this again for a while. And reflecting on how Brian, one of our party, chose the stag to come out to me too -- but there you go. I felt proud of him.
Next day Brighton pier was on fire again and Anton Young Nick and I went to see it smoulder after the others had left. Anton looking green as we walked past a fish and chip shop. Eventually I got my act together enough to leave. As it was Sunday the train appeared to go via Cornwall to reach London. I reached home and Mrs Kenny after what seemed like an eternity. I felt sordid.
I brought an album called happy sad by Tim Buckley in Brighton on a whim and have been spellbound by it since.
Work has been unspeakable since Monday. There has been a rearrangement of my part of the agency. Politically I don't know if this is good or bad thing yet. But where I once had space and clarity, the office has now lots more people in it and I am surrounded by crates full of junk. I feel demotivated. Still, I attended an excellent session today brainstorming embarrassment.
Bicycled yesterday and swam today in an attempt to redress some of this weekend's abuse.
Managed to finish the poem for Anna and Anton in time for the registrar to approve it for their wedding. It must not mention god. Also have a poem on Poetry Superhighway this week in their holocaust rememberance day issue.
Stupid home computer not working properly and have been unable to receive email for some time -- although the server is now dribbling ancient email at me. I'm certain some has been lost for good.
Bed calls now with some force.
Comments