Tuesday, March 06, 2012

A tramp

Woke up this morning dreaming about my friend Tim, who died of AIDS in 1994. I was half-aware in the dream that he was dead, and I was joking with him that he should look a lot worse. He told me I look like a tramp, and I woke up feeling vaguely insulted. What did the dream Tim mean by it? I kept asking myself in an Agent Cooperish way.

Amazing stored detail, and I was able to clearly see his face all day as if I'd seen him only yesterday. I am sure this was triggered by looking at my old MS the story of which had featured him.

Worked more on the new Pollard & Kenny project. Then felt rather paralysed by gloom for I ache, and my stomach is uncomfortable. I hate March almost as much as I hate January and I want to be curled up in a nest of leaves somewhere. But Spring usually seems me return to form. A long chat with Mum helped greatly however, and after this I had a productive and enjoyable afternoon.

Lorraine much improved today, and took herself back to work. In a revolutionary act, turned the TV off again and Lorraine talked instead as I pottered about and cleaned Betty's fish tank. We did watch Chelsea on TV winning a football game at last. Lorraine and I discussing the plight of Fernando Torres, the fabulously talented Spanish centreforward, bought by Chelsea for £50 million pounds, who has managed not to score at all for last 22 games. Chelsea persistently play him, and each game you get to see a young man who has lost all confidence labour fruitlessly. Despite this, the Chelsea fans were baying encouragement at him. It is painfully compelling.

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