An even dimmer view of dogs
A good start this morning, wrote a new short poem, which for better or worse arrived fully formed. I normally scorn the idea of writing prompts, but I was thumbing through my lemon yellow notebook of bits I sometimes jot down out of books, and was sparked by something I'd copied in there by Roland Barthes. Chatted to Keith for an hour today, talking about business and doing a bit of planning, and a bit of gossip.
Had a chat with Mum today, and will migrate north next week for a day to see her.
Then I mooched off to the gym, clambered onto the cross trainer for the third time this week, but soon felt rather bushed and cut the session a bit short. In fact I suddenly realised I was feeling rather tired.
Walked back across Preston Park, I was thumbing my phone for the next podcast but then women began screaming and shouting made me look up to see chaotic scenes involving four women and as many dogs. One woman's dog had seized a smaller one and was savaging it. As I made my way towards them they managed to pry apart the jaws of the bigger dog, one woman kicking the offender. The little one was badly bitten and bleeding, and the hostile dog, some sort of boxer, had a blood on its maw. I walked towards them, but could do nothing as it was all over by then, and the women, shocked and angry and appalled, were trying to sort it out. It was like seeing an attempted murder. My contribution, which was far from my finest hour, was to suggest that the murderous dog needed putting down. It wasn't two dogs barking and scrapping, the boxer was trying to end the other one. I sensibly left at this point.
Home, and spent the afternoon dipping into The Foucault Reader, edited by Paul Rabinow. I read a bit of Foucault about twenty years ago. Forgotten most of it. I forget everything I read eventually. It is the goldfish approach.
Lorraine home mercifully early. Bob called too, and we had a long chat. He sounded on good form and mooted a get together in London in October.