Zombie dodging

The Tobster's birthday. A good morning's work on the book, revelling in a bit of clarity and time. Broke off to go to the gym, a spontaneous carefree feeling as I trundled creakily on the cross trainer, and even did a bit of rowing on the rowing machine. Feeling cheery all day.

Lorraine singing in her choir and I walked off to the old market in Hove to hear some poetry and read a few of mine. Sat awkwardly at a table with uncommunicative poets until the thing was over and beat a retreat. Not really enjoying the poetry there, and can't enter the social side of it with any gusto.

Walked back along Western Road loving the fresh air after being in a stuffy room, and being able to glimpse the sea.

There has been a rubbish collectors industrial action lately, and central Brighton is disfigured by piles of rubbish being spread about in the breeze. Several homeless people about, and I hurried past a ring of half a dozen homeless folks in a doorway.

On the way home, I met Matt in the 3 Jolly Brewers. He has been reading The Damned United about football manager Brian Clough and loving it. Talking about the rubbish situation on the streets, and he said he'd overheard two blokes on the train saying 'Brighton? Like fuckin' 28 days later'. Actually they are right. It looked like a post apocalyptic zombie film tonight. Nice to catch up with him, and leave the empty pub and wander down the sleepy streets.

Once safely in bed with Lorraine, and Calliope, I spoke to Toby. Good chatting to my bro and looking forward to supping a few pints with him soon. And so to sleep.