Sunday, June 29, 2003

Dog tired after a returning this afternoon from a family reunion in Guernsey in the Channel Islands. Was brilliant to see everyone and to be back in my spiritual home which I miss all the time. As Victor Hugo had put in his dining room when exiled in Guernsey... Vitae exilium est.

The Island Games are being held in Guernsey this week, so all our habitual haunts were booked up, so the family found ourselves staying at a boarding house run by a ghastly crew of Dickensian grotesques. The chief of these was a fantastically patronising woman who was an ex-school teacher. The pedagogic urge has not left her. She spent what seemed like five minutes explaining, with demonstrations, how to use the lock of the room. Me biting my lip savagely.

But mainly there was good food to be eaten, and chat to be had, and walks along the cliffs with my brother and his wife (whose first visit this was). Unfortunately, my mother had hurt her back a few hours before Mrs Kenny and I arrived, and so was hobbling very painfully until scoring some drugs from the local doctor and miraculously straightening out in a day and a half.

My brother had not been there for almost ten years and was surprised how every lane is full of memories.

Shame we was only two days together. The island itself is like a family member, and I always seem to get a tear in my eye when leaving the place. It so small but means so much to me. I promised myself today to return for six months or so to have a stab at writing the great Guernsey novel.

After flying back from Greece earlier in the week I am feeling disoriented and feverish with a powerfully sore throat and a deep hacking cough and loose bowels. Mere days ago I was feeling full of manly vigour. What happened?

Leaving England on friday I was searched at Gatwick airport and they relieved me of my knife Mortel which I'd forgotten I was carrying and then checked my rucksack for traces of explosives. I found myself worrying that they'd find some, which was bizarre. Feeling like a criminal in moments is easy if people are suspicious of you. Today I reclaimed Mortel from the hostage-takers and then brandished it wildly at people all the way home.

Thursday, June 26, 2003

Back today from Samos the greek island. Plenty of news which I will add in drips and drabs. Was pleased to learn this morning that I have had an SF story accepted by an online magazine in the States.

Work busy but retaining my chilled Hellenic aspect. Will report later about Greek adventures later such as seeing dolphins dancing in the prow wave for the hell of it, or visiting Patmos, the seeing the cave where the text for the Book of Revelations was written down.

Must away, but more later....

Monday, June 02, 2003

Thunder last night in London. I woke and found I appeared to have swallowed what felt like a cactus.

Dragging myself around today feeling ratty with swollen glands and sore throat. Few meetings today, mostly slogging at the dratted erections again. I am writing various role-play scenarios of men visiting their doctor. Will this torment never end...

Andy back after the birth of Delilah Grace, and looking cheery if somewhat tired.

A day with little else to recommend it. Bah.

Sunday, June 01, 2003

I'm sure I'm omitting all the fabulously interesting stuff, and leaving only the dregs - as I've been too busy to keep this going properly in the last few weeks. Among other things I have been slaving over this huge website on erectile dysfunction. However there is a holiday is in sight -- Mrs Kenny and me are off to Greece in about ten days time for two big weeks.

Have joined a new swimming pool which is actually close to where I work. Have been slipping off at lunchtime or before work and it is helping me relax, although seems only marginally to be affecting the sumoesque nobility of my figure.

This weekend it was my wedding anniversary. Mrs Kenny and I went out to our favourite restaurant, the Glasshouse in Kew Village this lunchtime and had a marvellous meal and bottle of wine. She got me some nice books and a teeshirt, I gave her some perfume that she'd smelled on Loretta last weekend and really liked. Saw a photo of me executing a perfect star jump during the wedding last week, which was quite funny.

Got a new kind of especially swinish spam that crashed my inbox lately so with Mrs Kenny's help have just renewed contact with the outside world again.

Listening to a fab record lately by Les Nubians called One step forward. They are two sisters from Cameroon who live in Paris, and sing mostly in French.

Feel somewhat bitter and twisted about my own output. Work is getting in the way of my life again. I have not done any writing of my own for a long time. AnotherSun is drifting somewhat. One of these days I am going to take a huge sabbatical, and write all the stuff I need to get out of my system.

The amazing weather we've been having broke today. Friday lunchtime had a really nice time sitting by the river drinking some beers. Which is where Matt told me the best story of the week. Apparently Matt had gone on a trip to Cooper's Hill to roll cheeses. This involves flinging yourself down a hill after a cheese, and is plainly mad and extremely dangerous. Matt drove to Gloucestershire but for due to an foreign earthquake which necessitated the cheese paramedics flying abroad the event was cancelled. Eventless Matt and his pal lurked about until a Sky film crew produced a false cheese and invited them re-enact cheese rolling on the empty hillside for their cameras. Matt and his mate flung themselves down in the approved manner -- mainly on his backside -- Matt claimed it was broadcast in the midlands.

And I for one am inclined to believe him.