Poets in the rain
Up this morning and straight down to work with Richard, formatting the book. Stretching brainwork, but we got there in the end. We broke off to walk the dogs at Chouet Bay in the bright sun. Dogs trundling off across the sand covered in a thousand lumpy wormcasts.
Approaching lunchtime and we'd begun to get things sorted, and felt rather pleased with ourselves. Off to take some photos for the book cover. However as soon as this decision was made and, pausing only for some lunch at The Farmhouse behind the airport, we zoomed about the island photographing ourselves. This was far from satisfactory as I was having to set the shots up with a tripod, and then run into them. More galling still is the fact I looked like an utter scruff, made worse by the fact that Richard is poised elegance personified. Particularly enjoyed taking photos of him for his section of the book which is called The man who landed. He was dressed smartly carrying an old case, and was beginning to remind me of one of the angels from Wings of Desire.
Eventually the steady rain got the better of us and we went off for coffee at Costas. Then back home to another pleasant evening, chatting and drinking with Jane, who seems to be working far too hard. Jane suggested Richard and I read, and we read some poems too, and Jane read some aloud by a wonderful poet whose name I have forgotten about the premature death of her husband, which made Jane cry.
Rufus and Holly making me laugh. There are three rugs in the room, but they will sleep on them, but not walk over them, so they criss-cross across the floor to get to places.
Below me and Richard, wormcasts at Chouet, ourselves with La Gran'mère, and Richard in Wim Wenders mode.
Up this morning and straight down to work with Richard, formatting the book. Stretching brainwork, but we got there in the end. We broke off to walk the dogs at Chouet Bay in the bright sun. Dogs trundling off across the sand covered in a thousand lumpy wormcasts.
Approaching lunchtime and we'd begun to get things sorted, and felt rather pleased with ourselves. Off to take some photos for the book cover. However as soon as this decision was made and, pausing only for some lunch at The Farmhouse behind the airport, we zoomed about the island photographing ourselves. This was far from satisfactory as I was having to set the shots up with a tripod, and then run into them. More galling still is the fact I looked like an utter scruff, made worse by the fact that Richard is poised elegance personified. Particularly enjoyed taking photos of him for his section of the book which is called The man who landed. He was dressed smartly carrying an old case, and was beginning to remind me of one of the angels from Wings of Desire.
Eventually the steady rain got the better of us and we went off for coffee at Costas. Then back home to another pleasant evening, chatting and drinking with Jane, who seems to be working far too hard. Jane suggested Richard and I read, and we read some poems too, and Jane read some aloud by a wonderful poet whose name I have forgotten about the premature death of her husband, which made Jane cry.
Rufus and Holly making me laugh. There are three rugs in the room, but they will sleep on them, but not walk over them, so they criss-cross across the floor to get to places.
Below me and Richard, wormcasts at Chouet, ourselves with La Gran'mère, and Richard in Wim Wenders mode.
Comments