Sickening writer's dream: I'd had 32 pages of poems published in a book. (I remember the time I used to dream of entire books being published but that's another story.) But when I looked at the book the poems had been chopped and changed, and the stanzas wrongly ordered and half the poems disappearing from the foot of the page etc. Felt utterly galled.
The dream recalled the The Cream of the Troubadour Coffee House incident. When I looked at my poems in this anthology they had been "edited" so that for example my reference to hearing the Jerbourg foghorn in Guernsey got changed to Cherbourg in France, my biography had been largely invented, and the book's cover was verging on the gratuitously pornographic.
Theo's leaving do in The Dove. Slipped away early from work with Tracey. Had a quiet chat with her in the terrace by the river before the mobs descended. I keep thinking she and MJ would really get on, and telling her this I snapped her with my cameraphone for posterity.
The Dove is a great little pub with its dark unspoiled interior, and its fire in the winter. Always makes me feel as if I should be discussing smuggling or something vaguely piratical. It also has what claims to be the smallest bar in Britain. Nice altogethery night with about 18 of us out, mostly from the creative department. Theo being really positive and cheery which was nice to see after having been "let go".
By satisfying co-incidence Rosie was reading from printouts of very funny story about pirates she'd found on the internet. I will ask her on Monday who wrote it.
After what was a lively last day Theo and his wife decided to leave and somebody started singing for he's a jolly good fellow. He was then sung rousingly and rather touchingly from the pub. The party broke up shortly after and Ash and Phil, me, Benny, Hazel and Liz swooped on a nearby Thai restaurant. Lots of scarfing followed by a very late surge to Victoria station. Said goodbye to Phil at Victoria and had to lurk unhappily till 1.00am before I could climb aboard the train and sleep like a overfed baby till I reached Brighton at 2:30.
The dream recalled the The Cream of the Troubadour Coffee House incident. When I looked at my poems in this anthology they had been "edited" so that for example my reference to hearing the Jerbourg foghorn in Guernsey got changed to Cherbourg in France, my biography had been largely invented, and the book's cover was verging on the gratuitously pornographic.
Theo's leaving do in The Dove. Slipped away early from work with Tracey. Had a quiet chat with her in the terrace by the river before the mobs descended. I keep thinking she and MJ would really get on, and telling her this I snapped her with my cameraphone for posterity.
The Dove is a great little pub with its dark unspoiled interior, and its fire in the winter. Always makes me feel as if I should be discussing smuggling or something vaguely piratical. It also has what claims to be the smallest bar in Britain. Nice altogethery night with about 18 of us out, mostly from the creative department. Theo being really positive and cheery which was nice to see after having been "let go".
By satisfying co-incidence Rosie was reading from printouts of very funny story about pirates she'd found on the internet. I will ask her on Monday who wrote it.
After what was a lively last day Theo and his wife decided to leave and somebody started singing for he's a jolly good fellow. He was then sung rousingly and rather touchingly from the pub. The party broke up shortly after and Ash and Phil, me, Benny, Hazel and Liz swooped on a nearby Thai restaurant. Lots of scarfing followed by a very late surge to Victoria station. Said goodbye to Phil at Victoria and had to lurk unhappily till 1.00am before I could climb aboard the train and sleep like a overfed baby till I reached Brighton at 2:30.
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