On the side of Keats Up early with Lorraine. Before I started work, I watched the final Peter Ackroyd documentary about The Romantics, which allowed me to revisit my various opinions about them. Soulful Keats has always spoken most directly to me, I think some of his best poems arrive somehow still dripping with silence as if they had been hauled out of a dark psychological sea. Ackroyd emphasises his empathy, which is think is right. In contrast Byron, portrayed as a prototype celeb, leaves me almost completely unmoved. He mocked Keats as a Pissabed , and accused him of mental masturbation. Byron, in my opinion, was a flash git. Then on to my accounts, which refuse to be finished despite being manacled to my desk for hours . In the afternoon I worked on more ailment stuff for the agency, and was pleased to be doing it as financially things will be squeaky as a pipistrelle for the next couple of months. Lorraine needs to tighten her belt too. After discussing this for a while, w...
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Arundel Off to Arundel today for a general mooch about. Lorraine looking at it as a possible location for her to live. But she decided against it, despite it being a very beautiful place. Into the St Nicholas Church and the Catholic Cathedral where I lit a candle, thinking of Sprinkles and our visit there. After we wandered about town a little before finding Martin, who had been painting in his studio for a quick chat in the Eagle pub near an open fire. The fire a tad warmer than the welcome. The temperatured dropping, we returned to Brighton, where we bought a takeaway curry for supper. I spoke to Matt, who is now on variation seven, and has recruited a new violinist for our concert. Below noticed one of the Romantic Poets series the Guardian published this week in a bin. A great idea but they were printed on such uselessly thin stock that it didn't work. Poems are to keep. Inside Arundel Cathedral, in the grounds of St Nicholas church.