under another sun

Much of the day given over to fish business, prompted by an aquarium fail during the week. Draining and moving one tank, having caught the fish, put them in bags and floated them in the other tank, washing gravel for the new tank (which in itself took over an hour) planting, treating the water to remove harmful chemicals, seed in helpful bacteria, plant promoting chemicals, and ph adjustments, reintroducing fish and so on. L and I off to a late showing of 'Looper' at the Duke of York's picture house. An entertaining time travel yarn, which we, sat in the balcony with a drink, definitely enjoyed. Ticked the shooting with guns/fighty box, the SciFi box, the creepy kid box, tough sexy women box, the existential we're all trapped in life box, and the  child is father of the man  box. Good fun.

Off to Lorraine's friend Carolyn who was hosting a coffee morning and art sale on behalf of Macmillan. Looked at her pictures, she is very good at detailed botanical work. There were a dozen or so ladies who'd worked in the upper echelons of Education or who still did, talking a good deal in the kitchen. I repaired into the garden after buying a cup of tea and a bit of blueberry cake and basked in the sun beside a little garden pond. Soon joined by two men with whom I happily discussed football, gardens and fishing until it was time to melt away again, with Lorraine having bought a picture of snowdrops. Lorraine and I then then drove off to a Sussex Nature Conservation area, Burton Mill pond, and the Burton and Chingford ponds . Had an hour and a half walk through woods, and past swanned and dragonflyed ponds. Also walking past somewhere called The Black Hole, and walked on a plank walk above the peaty black water and dense vegetation. It is connected with ancient ironworks w

Another early start. Arrived at Farringdon at 8:30, pausing to buy a bacon sandwich from 'Tasty Cafe', which Toby would have liked, as tasty is my brother's highest accolade for food, modified in Japan for oishii , which means the same. A cheery Friday atmosphere pervading the office, full of colourful East End characters, who among their obvious talents at layout and design, swear vividly and often.  Two of them were talking about John Terry, the Chelsea football captain, who is in disgrace this week for racially abusing another professional during an ill-tempered game. One of them related a heartfelt story about how Terry phoned a dying fan, a friend of a friend, who had a young family. Terry spoke to him for two hours and was nothing but kind. The designer ended his story by saying 'of course, he's still a f*****g c**t though'. Fairly joyously released back into the wild, artfully dodging down Passing Alley towards the station. A couple of months of

Up just after six and off to work early. Reuben zooming past me on his bike close to the station. A busy day, with a truncated lunchtime walk. I left at work at six, and was rewarded by seeing an amazing complete rainbow arch from the train, utterly beautiful in the low sun. Carriage full of people, but I and the woman sitting opposite me, who saw me looking, were the only ones who appeared to notice it in my part of the train. The world is full of wonders if only we had eyes for them. Tomorrow is Friday. All is well. Below Lorraine out, so I was able to watch a manly documentary about the brilliant but maverick Canadian WW2 fighter Pilot, George Beurling (known as the Falcon of Malta) . He died after the war, when his transport plane mysteriously exploded before landing.

Off in torrential rain this morning. Pleasant enough ride to work once the train had slid from under the brooding black cloud over Brighton and the downs. My new tea flask has transformed my journey, splashing a little comfort into a cup after half an hour or so... Such are the straws I clutch at. Work okay, but this is not an especially friendly office. An interesting area however, and I took myself off for a rainy half hour walk at lunchtime. Listening to a Start the Week programme with Salman Rushdie being interviewed by Andrew Marr on the way home. Found myself warming to Rushdie in a way I'd not done before. Walked home from the station in stair-rod rain. I left my umbrella in the office in London. Despite being happy to be earning, I have been longing for Friday since Monday morning. Home to some lovely food Lorraine had cooked. All well. Below St John's Gate (I know nothing about this, and must investigate); Passing Alley a most Jack the Ripperish rat run; the gau

Up to London again. Full of a nonspecific foreboding on the train, but nothing bad happened. After eating a lovely lunch prepared by Lorraine, I took myself off for a half hour lunchtime walk feeling full of the beginning of my own mellow Autumn. I wandered through interesting London backstreets through Clerkenwell towards Exmouth Market. Little scraps of green dotted with people stealing moments from the day's work in the intermittent sunshine. Back to the agency to work on letters from a bank. I may actually write one that will be sent to me, seeing as the client is my bank. Working with an art director called Andy, who is a nice enough guy. Home remarkably easily. A relaxed evening, watching the Great British Bake Off with Lorraine and craving doughnuts before an early night. Below a few snaps from the day, from my phone so not so great.  A doorway into a disappeared school, making me think of the HG Wells story and of stepping through into another reality. The Exmouth Ar

Richard reading from his new book on Jenny Kendall-Tobias's show on BBC Guernsey . Richard's bit starts at 3:08:50. Naturally, well worth a listen and of course there is great chemistry with the Jenny. Meanwhile the other half of Guernsey's most famous couple, they lovely Jane, is 'being' Camilla again. Have a look at  alisonjackson.com . Scandalous. For me, a decidedly non-showbiz grey and rainy Monday. This week I am writing for a financial client, and am based in Farringdon. I'm sitting opposite Barney, an old colleague. Homeward journey delayed because of a fire scare closing Farringdon station. Despite this, home at a reasonable time, for supper with Lorraine, and now to bed. A smidge of travel chaos.

Someone ringing the doorbell repeatedly at 4.00am this morning, instead of our party-loving neighbours. This aside, our nights are much improved with no more clattering 5 am catfights through the catflap. For the evil black cat, who stared at us insolently through the window, evaded water pistol jets and was unafraid to take on humans too, has gone. Our neighbour Mark told us EBC had adopted a local house, and moved in with another mild mannered black cat. However EBC's bullying got so bad that its new owners contacted the RSPCA, where a chip was discovered, and it was returned to its original owners after four years, ending Brian's daily battles. Both our cats have noticeably relaxed. Lorraine and I had a large breakfast, watching a documentary about Peter Gabriel from the comfort of the gold sofa. Lorraine has a bad cold,  and I had a sore throat and felt wan, perhaps rather exhausted after doing the Bangram style canter so much the day before. A lovely roast dinner, befo

Blearily out of bed and Lorraine drove us off to Weybridge to see Max and the French Bloke (aka Michel) get married. Max had finally relented and allowed the marriage to happen, although having had three children together meant that they were obviously somewhat involved. Arrived early, with Lorraine sipping tea from the flask to soothe her throat once we'd arrived. Bumped into Pat and Judith his wife there, and soon the place filled up with lots of guests, and a host of angelic children in wedding attire. Good to see the old French Bloke, who is generally unfazed by anything, looking nervous. The ceremony passed off well, with a lovely registrar. I found myself fighting off the tears as is usual at events like this.  A photography session in the registry office gardens, before we all drove back to Max and Michel's house, where the garden had been transformed with a canopy and seating. Lots to drink and eat, and a massive party ensued. Lots of friends there of course, includ

Another mild mannered journey in and was on time again. Last day in Tavistock Square, and of sitting next to First Matie. Sloped off to a local cafe with Nicola at lunchtime, and got myself some strangely chewy but pleasant lasagna and salad to take away. While we were waiting, and Nicola was smoking a fag, she pointed out the plaque across the way in Woburn Walk, which I'd walked through loads of times, saying that W.B. Yeats had lived there. It was near a sign for a place called Wot The Dickens, which seemed appropriate. I was released back into the wild at six and hoofed it in the pouring rain to the station, and back to Brighton. Feeling a bit coldy and sore throated all day. Home and found Lorraine and Beth both fast asleep on the gold sofa. Lorraine with a cold and Beth with a cough. When these two sleeping beauties roused, we shuffled off for a restoring curry at The Shahi. Below the Yeats plaque in Woburn walk. Also this Korean song by an artist called Psy is becom

Vile night. Woke at two o'clock and had no sleep till shortly before I was due to get up. Not helped by Calliope continually purring into my face, and making odd crunching noises on the carpet on what turned out to be a grizzly wood pigeon's wing. To work, and because I felt so tired I did a relaxation/meditation tape on the train. Afterwards felt repaired in body and soul, and rather cheery, thinking about all the creative projects I have ready to unleash, now that the running sore of not having enough money is being rapidly rectified.  On that note, I was offered another week's work next week, at a place I've not worked at before in Farringdon. Once those invoices start being paid, the Kenny coffers will be spilling with doubloons. I am lucky to be able to earn money quickly. After work, zoomed back to Brighton, where Lorraine met me at the station, and we sped in the car off to Hove to the Blue Note, where we met Matt. An interesting night organised by Claudius.

Incredibly crawling late train this morning. The Brighton to St Pancras First Capital Connect service is truly dire, and their timetables are works of risible fiction. I find this all very stressful. Once at work, a pleasant enough day. Off at lunchtime with Matt to a local pub and we discussed my (advertising focused) New Idea, plus Jungian archetypes and other wide ranging subjects over a glass of wine and a bit of fish-based snap.  After work, I found myself in an extraordinary local dive called The County with Steve and Pat, (who have their own unsavoury name for it). Like stepping back into the 1970s, with strange decorations and lots of little tables with chairs. I had to change my chair for the gentleman who had been sitting in it before me was evidently rather aromatic. An hour or so given over to gossiping about former colleagues and their mad ways. Interspersed with older people shouting at each other.  Home, and a late chat with Lorraine before heading for bed, with a

Woke up at 5:30 both Lorraine and I up early, wrong footing the cats, and I caught the early train full of grey faced sleepy heads. I felt much more cheery and made it early to Tavistock Square.  I sauntered off with Kate in the lunchtime sun to look at dresses for the French Bloke and Max's wedding this weekend.  For Kate, not me, obviously. I don't look great in a dress. Although I did once wear a fetching dogs tooth two piece and a red wig while working for IBM in a once only appearance as a female impersonator. A modicum of lung disease work this afternoon.  Listening to Titus Groan on the way home, but it is heavy going. Peake writes like a poet, so much of the joy is in the description. This invites rereading. As an audiobook you plough through, and I keep thinking I must go back to look at certain passages. Another distraction is that I have become addicted to a game called Stick Cricket on my phone, which I played so obsessionally that my eyes hurt. The Shard looks

A Mondayish Monday. Long train delays on the way to work. Luckily I had a new vacuum flask with me, so was able to enjoy a cup of tea during the journey. At St Pancras I left the train without my jacket, which I only realised some hours later. I was also late for work. Brain functioned poorly for most of the day, and I felt tetchy and fed up. Passed the Shard on the way home. A beautiful, savage structure. Reached home at 8:45am. One of the fish had died. Chatted to Lorraine, who makes life better. Tomorrow is another day.

The bliss of not getting up again this morning. The cats have other ideas, and do their best to rouse us. When I got up, I uploaded Richard's book  and worked, while Lorraine simply worked. Then to Sainsburys which is curiously fun with Lorraine. Failing, however, to get myself sorted out for my reading on Thursday. Time is running out and I have a horrible feeling I am about to make more of an arse of myself than is customary. Much needed snooze in the afternoon. Sainsburys, and a lovely roast supper with Lorraine. Then off to The Tin Drum  for their Sunday evening happy hour, to bang on with Anton for an hour or so. He had a good time on a short break in Portugal with the children. Saw various photographs that Klaudia had taken of dolphins and alligators. Then downhill to Preston Circus, and happily to bed.

Slept like a log, and woke at eight. Beautiful day, and thank God for the weekend. Still, nowhere near enough time to sort out everything that has been left on ice for the last few weeks. Up early and billing and some admin. Lorraine and I headed into town, Lorraine picking up a conker from the big tree on the road,  before we headed into town for a much-needed haircut, put my suit into dry cleaning before next weekend's wedding, pharmacy etc. Lorraine and I also took the opportunity to pop into The Basketmakers for a couple of hours where we met Matt, with Rosie and Dawn putting in guest appearances too. Great to be back in the Basketmakers with friends. Matt about complete a choral piece I supplied the words for, based around the phrases used in shop windows, either called Season, New Season or Everything Must Go.  I bought a CD, for the first time in ages . Rispah, by The Invisible. Fell into conversation with the woman serving me in Resident Records and discussed how they

Reading my copy of Strange Journey on the train this morning. This the new book by Richard, which has turned out very well. Nice black and white jacket, with himself as a child on the front cover, and on the reverse as he is now. The poems excellent too and I will write more fully about the poetry on my notebook blog. Even the poetry-phobic First Matie, who I'm now sitting next to in the agency, found herself engaged. I will be uploading information on how to get your hands on a copy shortly, and you would be mad not to. Richard did a launch reading today and texted me to say that it had gone well. Wish I'd been in Guernsey to see it. Up to work again. Last week's lively weekend away had blurred the last two weeks together into one megaweek, and I am running on empty. Almost as tired as the folks in the agency who had worked on a pitch till midnight the day before. A pleasant enough day, however, finished off by the French Bloke quaffing some bubbly with the agency, a

This morning made it to London fine, but Victoria tube station closed due to crowding. However happily discovered a new bus route that was a boon. Learned that my poems are going to be on the buses again in Guernsey, and in the Airport and so on. Cheering news. More lung disease at work, but had a good laugh sitting next to First Matie, who got me via facebook to get her a cup of tea. In the evening to the Salisbury where I met Aimee for a cheeky few beers. When you can get a seat in the Salisbury, it is one of my favourite pubs. Lots of news to share, and always nice to see the spirited Aimee. She is like a breath of fresh air. And good to hear that she has dragged a new boyfriend through the catflap, who seems to be very nice and is much liked by her family too. Just missed a train at Victoria, so rather late getting home. Bought an Ace Pizza and ate it on the bed chatting to Lorraine. After a few slices, I managed to drop face down on the floor, leaving a pizza print on the carp

Tiresome train delays. I'd had such easy, although long, journeys, lately that I'd forgotten the ghastliness when trains go wrong, and the way from Brighton to London is doomed. Ended up getting in a cab, with a very cheery cabbie, who made me suddenly feel a lot better about everything.  Work perfectly fine, working on a brochure to do with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and being photographed holding an Einstein mask. Felt rather tired though, I am not so good at bouncing back from lively weekends any more. In the evening mooched across to Goodge Street where I met Bob, to tardily celebrate his birthday.  Long and wide-ranging discussions in a couple of pubs, and Pizza Express, where Bob managed to obtain a pizza twice the size of mine for almost the same money. I can talk to Bob about things I can only tell Bob, or perhaps more accurately, only Bob would be interested in. Talking about dreams and archetypes, and the nature of the imagination, among more general gos

Off to London where I am working with my chums in Tavistock Square. Early train allowed me to stroll through London, which I always enjoy. Brief chat to Pat and Matty boy this morning, and was able to see with my own eyes that the FB was still alive, which was reassuring. Lunchtime stroll with Nicola, and a pleasant day. Left early (for me) and decided to brave the wee Victoria tube line at six. My God, talk about about claustrophobic. Having steadfastly avoided these ghastly tubes during rush hour, after three stops I was literally shaking by the time I reached Victoria station. Home and preparing salads and healthy stuff for supper. Below  a snap Matty thoughtfully sent of the French Bloke in a dress. Also the poster below was sent me by Claudius. The date is soon, so I had better get my thinking cap on about what to perform without looking a complete doofus.

Zombied off to North Acton this morning, after sleeping the sleep of the dead last night. Luckily an untaxing morning. Took myself one last time to Kitty's to take away one of their pad thai, today sitting next to two policemen as I waited for my food to be ready. The afternoon became steadily more busy, and ended with a now-traditional frenzied requirement to write several radio adverts in an hour. Met an old colleague Chris who'd come for a late meeting. He said he still used something I'd written about starting sentences with conjunctions like 'and' and 'but' and how it is okay, and he gives it to his junior suits. Fond farewell to the North Actonites, but in truth couldn't get home fast enough. All I wanted to do is chill out with Lorraine on my gold sofa. Mightily looking forward to the weekend. Below in the central line.

Slept a big 4.5 hours, and woke sans crushing hangover feeling somewhat better. Shipmates astir after sixish, all brighter and better than yesterday after our slightly more subdued night. I walked out and took photographs of the misted predawn fields and canals, shoes soaking in the wet grass. We were soon underway again. Murray and Dion making a big breakfast, as we commenced another idyllic sunny day. I sat in the prow passing through a dream of English beauty and chatting to my shipmates. Barging is a beautiful way to see the country, and the enforced slowness, brought about by going through locks, and the sedateness of the engine, has the potential to be wonderfully restful. A prehistoric looking heron burst up from the vegetation early in the day and we passed swans and cygnets,ducks and ducklings, and smaller birds disappearing into the reeded banks. Glimpses of fish in the murky water, and they made little rings as they broke surface on the still water. Reflections made it a p

Woke a couple of hours later utterly freezing. I'd failed to locate any bedding and so draped myself with a towel and fell back into an uneasy frozen sleep. People up offensively early, which at least prevented me from developing frostbite. Nigel spontaneously began cooking everyone breakfast. Meanwhile the French Bloke, who had barely slept, and certainly still drunk as a lord, efficiently sparked up the engine and we were underway, pootling along at less than walking pace along the incredibly beautiful canal. Gangs of us springing off to tie up the barge, open the locks and so that the barge could rise up through the lock of green and slimy brickwork to the sun. Progressed steadily through the morning. Many recommenced drinking as early as 8am. I was faintly appalled by this superhuman capacity. For I was  exhausted and shabbily hungover. We stopped in a picturesque village and made our way to its pub for lunch. An incredibly rude woman staff member started hostilities with us

To Acton with an overnight bag. A typical end-of-week agency day, with staff frazzled and the client  demanding the manifestation of unicorns.When this abated, off to Paddington (which was bearable) where I had arranged to meet Pat. Waited in a station bar, near the one-armed-bandit machines and watched a man like a grubby bee settling on the colourful machines, and pumping in fistfuls of pound coins. Met up with Pat, and boarded an Oxford train, we had to stand for much of the journey, which was delayed on the track. A good laugh though, and enjoyed the tins of beer I'd sensibly bought. Arrived in Oxford and shared a pizza in a bus shelter before catching a taxi to a canal-side pub, The Boat Inn, in Thrupp.  Here we found Michel. Matt, Steve (Matt's brother in law), Dion and Murray who I'd met before, and Nigel and Simon who I hadn't. All Gentlemen already well refreshed by the time we arrived. Nine strong we boarded the 72 foot barge moored outside the pub, and ha

Training up through the morning mists to London again. Another sunny day spent in the umbra of an office. Off at lunchtime to Kitty's again for a takeaway tray of Thai niceness. Listening to Mervyn Peake's Titus Groan , as an audiobook. Such an original and brilliant writer, unlike anyone else in English. Interesting too because he lived in Sark, and I have briefly met his three children at the Guernsey literary festival last year. Home rather frayed, despite a comparatively smooth journey. Lucky to have some food waiting for me. Beth back with Laura, whose unmistakably eyelashed car was parked outside. Packed and got myself as humanly ready as possible for Michel's stag do this weekend. Lorraine and I both tired; an early night.

If you want to know if people are mad or not, simply have a look at their gardens. The next door neighbour to Mum and Mas has replaced the lawn with gravel, has a pair of concrete dogs which he waters sometimes, and recently proudly showed Mas some nasty looking plastic flowers, tucked out of sight of his own back widows. After gazing blearily these garden atrocities from the bedroom window, I hoofed downstairs to have a fast breakfast. Made off with five jars of bramble jelly and wild plum jam too. A beautiful sunny day. Mas gave me a lift to Stanmore, where I spoke to Lorraine on the phone before tubing to work. Into the tube found myself standing next to a nicely presented woman who reeked astonishingly of garlic. Work again perfectly manageable, writing lots of bitty things. I slunk off to Kitty's Cafe in the industrial park to buy some lunch. Waiting to take away my Pad Thai I sat next to two men, an American and a South African, who were discussing cicadas. One of my coll

Lorraine up at five to get ready for her conference, me up to London. A busy morning's work, but manageable. A walk around at lunchtime, venturing down Sunbeam Road, a pavementless road into an unlovely industrial estate. Hoping to take some bleak urban photos, but, living up to its name, it was so cheerfully sunny that this was somewhat defeated. Instead I lurked happily in the graveyard for a 15 minutes, looking at all the crazily leaning graves, and listening to a Mark Kermode film review podcast. Another strangely tranquil afternoon. I again bused through Harlesden and Willesden and caught the tube up to Mum and Mas. A nice evening chatting. Mason talking a bit about his war experiences in Korea as a sniper. Asked him if he had any post traumatic stress. He said that he was so young he thought it was like playing a video game. Mum meanwhile is doing some kind of art by the square inch deal with a gallery owner in the Philippines. She is going to be a star of the orient. A c