Wednesday, February 03, 2016

Damaged by Anatomy

Woke refreshed, with more movement in the infernal neck. Optimism and joie de vivre which had been AWOL for the last week or so were back. Worked steadily and with a sense of there actually being light at the end of the tunnel. Basic Peter Kenny survival skills flooding back, like focusing on the job at hand and the ability to distance myself from the stuff I was doing. Why is it that I have relearn the same life lessons time and again?

A productive, hard-working day, and took three walks. A chat with Matty this afternoon too - relieved to learn he is on the same page as I am about the work we've been doing. Also discussing with Betty how to do first auditions for the play next week. Last walk was just before I cooked supper, and was I oblivious to the fact a man was being arrested near the bottom of Beaky Villas a few hundred yards away for waving a gun around. No shots fired apparently.

On my walks today listening to the last bits of Life by Keith Richards. Amused by the indestructible Richards' anecdote of the worst injury he seems to have done himself was scaling up his bookcase reaching for his volume of Leonardo Da Vinci's Anatomy. He was rained on by heavy books, breaking ribs and puncturing a lung. This has been making me listen to the Stones again,  at their best they were some kind of a force of nature.

Heard from Michel, aka French Bloke, tonight. He was telling me about the sad news that a former partner of his had died. Their daughter Eliana (who has been happily living with the FB and Max for years) was naturally grief stricken, but she is a reading and poetic girl, who found comfort in writing a poem for her mother, which she read at the funeral. Michel sent it to me, and it was wonderful. A talented girl, bless her. And reminder, if any was needed, that there is no substitute for genuine feeling in a art. A cleverly ironic poem has never made me cry.

Looking after Lorraine tonight, rather gruelled by the week so far.

Below Keith Richards.

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