under another sun

Burry Lorraine up with Betty in Kingston all afternoon and early evening which gave me a much needed opportunity to nurse my dreary sore throat and deaf ear and snooze a little. Nothing happened in abundance. Calliope tormenting the other cats, read a poem or two by Akhmatova. One of which mentioned the plant burdock. I couldn't picture this plant so I availed myself of Lorraine's book of British plants. Here I discovered all about The Burry Man of South Queensferry near Edinburgh. This is a man who dresses up head to foot in burdock burrs, and lurches around town accepting nips of whisky which are taken through a straw. He has two supporters who keep him upright when his labours begin to take their toll. Otherwise wrote a draught of the liner notes for the CD. And watched junk TV till Lorraine arrived sneezing in the evening having had an excellent time with Beth. All well. Match of the Day. Bed. Below: the burry man.

Moment of confusion Up early finishing off a some copy on atrial fibrillation, having first jotted down a new poem which suddenly popped out from what my new and abundant seam. Was just making myself a self-satisfied cup of tea when Cath called round. Had an deep chat about Cath having just returned from a huge pilgrimage across Spain and landing with an inevitable bump. She is now looking for a job having taken voluntary redundancy from her last one, but wants to make some big shape ups too. Off to the bank this afternoon, to pay in expenses from Guernsey, which lessened the sting of recent adventures. Walking to the gym I had a very disconcerted moment. I glimpsed Lorraine's doppelganger, bumped into my neighbour Ronnie, received a text about atrial fibrillation, and a clearly-deranged young guy, having walked unhindered, began shouting at Ronnie and I to 'get out of my town' and 'don't block the pavement'. I had to cut short the gym to do some more work. An...

Freezing in the sunshine A summer's day. Up and working on poems first thing as sometimes you have to ride that poetry pony. Into an editing phase now on the latest crop. I love this kind of tinkering, replacing individual words in poems you suspect are pretty good. Called by the agency up in Tavistock Square, which pleased me greatly as the Kenny coffers need a new influx. Schlepped up into London, working on new poems, for a late afternoon briefing, London much hotter than Brighton. Somewhat disappointingly the brief turned out to be a day, day-and-a-half job. Still, better than nothing and nice to see some old friends again. Train home freezing due to exuberant air conditioning, reading Ahkmatova describing snowy Russian scenes and forlorn lovers. Sudden mental exhaustion and depression when I got to Brighton. Wanted to go for a cheeky beer, and went around to Lorraine's house where I was fed, then we drove off to pick up Betty, who had been chaperoning two naughty children ...

Poems and virtue Seem to have poems pouring out of me at the moment. As to whether they are good or not is a completely other thing. Though I am also hacking into older poems that have been half finished for ages and simply finishing them. Also reading the poems of Akhmatova today for an hour or so. Some lovely work, and a major poet who to my shame I have not really got to grips with, beautifully translated by Richard McKane. Otherwise a sluggish day, which even another trip to the gym did not fix. Arrangements flying about for a big get together in Brighton this weekend. Spoke to Anton today just after I had left the gym, on the important matter of calculating how many words could be formed from his own name without changing the order of the letters. A, an, ant, to, ton, tong, tonga, gal, etc. there are more if you include his middle name. I can't remember what that is as I type, but it's probably something like Adolf. Apparently my name was poor for this kind of thing, whic...

Raining poets in London Sleeping-pill assisted sleep made me feel much improved today, although still unaccountably edgy. But cut through things quickly, sent copies of Defenders off to an agent and to Shaun Shackleton at the Guernsey Press. Also contacted The Sussex Beacon about the CD project, went to see Adrian and Diane about photographs, taking in dozens of spangly high heels Adrain is shooting. Was made a lovely cup of coffee and had a nice chat with both. Off to London, plans changing at the last moment so took myself amid torrential rain to the poetry library in The Royal Festial Hall. Had a strange sequence of coincidences all relating to people I knew really well in the early 90s. Wandered over at random to pick up a copy of Acumen and it fell open at a poem by Rhona McAdam, an old friend. Next magazine I picked up it fell open at a review of the excellent iTuplips by Mario Petrucci, another old friend. Wandered aimlessly along the shelves and Tim Gallagher's Narcissus G...