under another sun

Felling grumpy this morning, epitomised by fox crap on the doorstep, which Lorraine and I washed off before she went to school.  A draining day feeling exhausted by a painful throat. Worked for at least ten hours. But what Keith and I had done went down well when we finally presented it.  Feeling unwell, with a painful throat. Lorraine home unusually early for her. I was finally done by six thirty.  Jade arrived late in the afternoon, a bundle of energy and cheer. Had curry, which Sam collected. Repaired quickly to the sofa afterwards. We all watched Frasier. Then Lorraine and I crept gratefully off to bed, full of curry and thanking our lucky stars for the weekend.

So the culmination of much hard work today. Another eight-ish start with Keith and working on the new concepts with Keith after yesterday's redeployment of the goalposts. Met with the CD in the middle of the day, and then presented the ideas at 5, and was all done by 6:30. At the same time I uploaded the translation episode of Planet Poetry  with the interviews with Lian, Alireza and Brian up, after Robin made a couple of tweaks this morning. Also heard from my accountant and have scheduled in a chat about tax, IR 35 and restructuring my business next week.  Lorraine gradually looking less tired and I'm trying to encourage her to prioritise unwinding. She is playing a new game on her Nintendo Switch, which is called My Time At Portia . Felt tired but very relieved afterwards. A couple of beers in the evening, and sat chatting with Jade in the kitchen as she finished off cooking, cinders style. A cheery evening, and Lorraine, Jade and I watched Frasier episodes and laughed alou...

Off to London today, finishing Jeremy Page's book of short stories,  London Calling on the way there. I loved it, and as Jeremy is about my age, (and had gone to Warwick too) I completely identified with some of his work. I sent him an email saying how much I'd enjoyed it. Also enjoying Louise Tondeur's collection,  Unusual Places which I dip into from time to time. I arrived at Victoria time to to pop into Tate Britain, where I at last got to use my membership card again. I glanced around at the Edward Burne-Jones exhibition, but I found I wasn't much in the mood for pre-Raphaelite malarkey. I went into the Turner Prize 2018, each of the artist doing a video installation, so utterly the wrong thing to pop into for a cheeky twenty minutes. I did get a proper laugh at some work by Charlotte Prodger, film of a stern of a ship at sea which made you feel woozy, looking at the sliding horizon. Suddenly there was voiceover, but so risibly pretentious that it made me burst...

Up fairly early for a Sunday. Feeling pretty sprightly and the foot much better. Lorraine working all day. Beth and I went to The Boots for an all-afternoon rehearsal with Matt and Kitty. A good day's work. The whole thing is getting very close now, only a month to go and still quite a bit of work needed to get up to scratch. Working with lovely people helps. Kitty and Matt really good folks, and we had quite a few laughs. Beth and Kitty a dynamic duo. Matt has the biggest challenge in learning lots of lines and finding his way into the play. Work interspersed with sitting in the garden of the Boots, which was very quiet, drinking soda water. Rounded it off with a cheeky beer with Beth and Matt. Asking Matt about his faith, as he is a keen church goer. Betty off to John's tonight. Bumped into Claudius too, who had popped in to say hello to someone there. Home and Lorraine still working on school reports and so on. Briefly spoke to Mum to organise a nip up to London tomorrow. ...

Monday, and feeling little buzzes of happiness, in the thought that this will be the last Monday for a while, when I’ll be commuting up to London, at least on a daily basis. A fine day it turned out to be, when Keith and I emerged blinking from our yellow padded cell from time to time for meetings or to sport our shades sauntering to Waitrose. A bad headache in the afternoon.  Eager for news about Chelsea, who were crowned Premiership Champions at the weekend, and have the FA Cup final to look forward to. John Terry their long serving talisman, who seems to be roundly disliked by anyone not associated with Chelsea retired from the team too, with a ‘shoal of silverware’ one commentator said. Home, by faux first class, although I couldn’t help noticing that it was sweltering in there compared to the rest of the train. If I were paying for it, I don’t think I’d be best pleased. Lorraine out with work pals tonight, Beth at John’s. I cooked up some chicken and noodles, and watched...

Ah the glory of first class travel at standard prices. A brilliant thing, and able to do work on the way to work, which made the day less stressy. Arriving at St Pancras without a cricked back and bruised knees is a thing of glory. Lots of rain today again, this is good news for thirsty gardens but perhaps less wonderful when you are dancing through puddles. Work not entirely bad. Had  a few laughs with Keith. Reading the Matthew D'Ancona Post Truth book on the way home, which is dovetailing nicely with reading I've been doing about postmodernism lately. And linked to a kind of personal ah-ha moment too regarding my writing.  Home and Lorraine and I had a gorgeous stir fry and watched a couple of episodes of Frasier. I never tire of that series, and we saw the one where Frasier is trying to find some peace and quiet and having been driven out of work and home, says he is going to the park to read, but it is raining so ends up at Cafe Nervosa, whereupon Niles walks in o...

Up early, after Lorraine and I plotted some time in France this Summer.  I must return to my duo lingo course, as this was actually quite helpful when I went to Chad. Some excitement at noon when Brian escaped from our top floor Juliette window and leapt between rooftops, in a way that if he had miscalculated would spell certain death. We lowered down a stepladder to help him scale up but he shunned it. Eventually I managed to grab him by the scruff of his neck leaning precariously though an open window. An afternoon to myself, as Lorraine and Beth went to see the play Matilda. I sat in the garden sunshine drinking coffee and listening to Villette for a while. Then, after walking about the neighbourhood, found a quiet little sports bar, called the Preston Brewery Tap, where I watched some footie: Leicester vs Manchester United. If Leicester had won, they would have won the premiership, but they were able only to draw, but still need only two points from their next two matches....

Today's fresh hell was waking up and quite suddenly not being able to pee. To London and managed to get through the day's work, emitting the occasional spoonful of wee before mercifully finishing the day and getting home. After I got home and called 111 to discuss the matter, they arranged an emergency appointment with a charming doctor in the hospital, who gave me a DRE, examined what little wee I could produce for infection, gave me pills and sent me home with the proviso that should I feel that my bladder was going to explode I should return to A&E. At least, however, it prevented me from the joyless business of being able to watch England crashing out of the World Cup after their second defeat, this time to Uruguay. All this meant that Lorraine and my meal out with Claudia was cancelled. Annoying and embarrassing. Comfortingly Claudia said that not being able to pee wasn't as embarrassing as shitting your pants, a thought that gave me a modicum of comfort. A...

A good start, working by 7:30 and pushing on more fluently with the final section of the book. Watching Frasiers as I have been is making me consider the psychological aspects of this. Perhaps as I am now nearing the end, a sub-personality wants to drag out the process so that I won't have to face the possibility of rejection. If it is, it is not working, just making this last lap of the first full draft more arduous than it need be when I was writing less self-consciously. Found a folder full of old poems, and a bunch of them I had shown to a fellow poet in the 80s, who had written comments such as Poor,   Dull , and No. No. No. and so on against each one. Still had the power to annoy even across the decades. Trawling it for any lost gems. There were few, and I had to half-agree with my critic of yesteryear. However I did find the original text for Testament of The Man Who Could See Through Walls , which I did at the Water Rats Theatre in King's Cross with Mindy and the la...

Had a vivid dream about Calliope. In it an expert on cat intelligence was assuring me that Calliope was off the scale in terms of her IQ and also that she had highly developed empathy. Lorraine laughed when I told her about this. Working on the sex in advertising section of the book, and it is getting increasingly complicated. One of those bits that the more you work at it the further away from finishing it you become. Grew slightly infuriated with this as the hours rolled on. Gave up. If in doubt: tidy up. Tidied up, sorting through endless pieces of drivel which made me swear. Lorraine, working at home, zoomed off on her bicycle. L and I off to Lewes this evening with Rosie. Stopped to consume Spanish tapas in a bistro packed with ladies of a certain age. Sat next to a fatter man than me slurping down oysters with evident enjoyment, and chatted to Rosie who was looking all sunny and relaxed. Then off to The Dorset, which serves Harveys Bitter a stone's throw away from Harve...

Out of the box Up before the sparrows at Lorraine's house and trekked sullenly home to start work at 7:40 as there was ground to be made up from yesterday. Bad night's sleep as I was overtired. Lorraine telling me about the dream she had about boxes that contained sleep, and how I didn't have them all. Grey morning and I worked on atrial fibrillation almost all day and half the evening. Of all the gargoyles in my chamber of hypochondriac horrors, palpitations and heart events are what puts the willies up me most. Good then that I have to spend all the hours God sends for the next few days writing about them in loving detail. Exciting news from Guernsey. Jane was asked to do a day's photo shoot as a Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, lookalike, necessitating an exciting trip to London last weekend with Richard. That Jane is a woman of many talents. Chatted to Betty today, thanks to her efforts people are busily reserving tickets for Wrong . I am veering toward optimism again...

Mr Bottomsley's message Snuffling up to the agency I am working with in Tavistock Square. First Matie now works there, and Matty boy is moving there soon too join Pat and the French Bloke, as well as several other old friends and colleagues. Feels very familiar when I pop in. Today mostly about business however, and a long conversation and feedback on the atrial fibrillation and stroke work I'd done with a nice woman called Ana, who was similarly snuffling. Home on the train and was at last able at 3:00pm to boof out. Mubarak has gone in Egypt, which is good. I turned on Radio 4 and they were relaying the sound of the huge crowd in Tahrir Square. Wasn't sure how to interpret the sound at first, as I hadn't heard the news yet. Eventually I worked out that it sounded joyous. A chilled night in again, Lorraine out with her girlfriends, and me watching the inevitable Frasiers. Encountered the episode with Mr Bottomsley in it again. Frasier is taking care of his neighbour...

A personal landmark Barely got two or three hours sleep due to excruciating back, however spent the night working out my presentation to Guernsey Arts. Walked back from Lorraine's house in the lovely sunshine and--curious this--did a killer day's work, finishing the third draft of Skelton Yawngrave. This draft involved some significant rewriting, and now stands at 81,701 words, heftier than I planned. Several things to hoover up in draft four, which may trim it a wee bit. But in a couple of weeks it will be ready to show people, and I am immensely proud of what I have achieved - and also quite nervous. As I typed the last few words it made me wonder again where all these characters, plotlines and words have come from. They seem to have been given me fully formed, and my only job was to get it all down without messing it up. Most odd. And I already know what is going to happen in the sequel. Sensing it was a big moment for me, Calliope sat on my desk for much of the day looking ...

Enjoying dismal jazz Quietly writing all morning. And in the afternoon got my back cracked again, and went down the road to Mad Hatters where I spoke to a very nice woman called Clare who took some photos of me wearing hats. I forget now why this seemed such a good idea. Something about how I am wearing many hats in my business these days. Anyway an enjoyable business, with me on my knees in a hatshop and Clare snapping away. Then up to Edgware to see Mum and Mase. Had a really nice evening listening to "Dismal Jazz" the compilation CDs that Toby had made for Mum. After doing this for some time we watched a couple of the Frasier episodes. I've lent mum the first three series for when there is nothing worth watching on TV. We all enjoyed this. Always amazes me how they got Frasier right, straight from the pilot epsiode. Below if the cap fits...

Goodnight Seattle Found myself googling snake skeletons and bat faces today for my skeleton story. Snakes can have hundreds of ribs and more vertibrae than you can shake a stick at. And bats are plain weird. To be able to write for six straight hours uninterrupted about bat faces and skeletons is wonderful - if a little eccentric. Later I took to baking bread and making a large pie. Then talked to Louise for the first time in ages, and hearing her baby boy Thomas gurgling in the background. They are both doing well and I will visit them soon. On a curiously sad note, finally watched the last episode of the final Frasier series. These characters really speak to me, and as someone said in the DVD extras, the show never talked down to its audience. It was consistently intelligent, and often brilliantly written - and always excellently acted. But most of all you invested emotionally in the characters, and I identify increasingly with Frasier himself these days. I often get the feeling of s...

The Hermit of the Twitten In a real routine now, although this hermetic, existence does not a great blog make. Working on the poetry manuscript from eight. First thing is best for thinking. But today by 11:30 I couldn't see the wood for the trees - and felt briefly quite bleak about it. In this mood however I was able to spot that one of the newer poems was never going to work. There was a technical reason for this: it is rubbish. Two factors for successful poetry editing: time and moodswings. I have been half thinking about getting a cat, but watching the Frasier has cured me of that. There is an episode in the last series where he is dateless, wrapped in a blanket and talking lengthily to a cat called Mr Bottomsly. I don't want to go there. Spent a few hours working on my Skeleton stuff , which is making me guffaw delightedly as I write. Heard from an old Warwick buddy, Tim, who has lived in Italy now for donkey's years. Quite good to see a photo of him all bearded and bu...

A poet for a day In some ways this was a great day. Spent most of it working hard on my poems, and late in the afternoon, was asked to do more freelance days later in the week. I am very lucky at the moment, as work is walking in the door. But I am intoxicated by the luxury of being able to think about poetry all day. This is different from writing the stuff. I am still working on editing my collection so that the poems are more than the sum of their parts, and this is taking an enormous amount of thought and time - but of the most enjoyable chin-stroking, book consulting sort - which is resulting in me seeing my work very differently. Today I felt as free as a student again, and I can't believe my luck - and this time I won't blow it with horseplay. Ken called around just before lunch, for a coffee and a writerly chat, telling me more about his Mabley book (mentioned here on the 1st Jan) and other projects he is working on, and dropping around two nice Christmas presents. Ken ...

Getting my fingers back Woke up in Matty's place on Strand on the Green, had an enjoyable half an hour before he got up having made myself a cup of tea, playing his guitar. I have had my worst ever bout of rheumatism in my hands in the last week, but this now much better and I have my playing fingers back. Funny to be walking off with Matt to Gunnersbury station, which was my local tube for many years. Amazing to be in Hammersmith and ready for work in a few minutes, compared to the hideous slog from Brighton. I stopped at Marks and Spencers to buy some fresh underpants, socks, and a shirt and changed into these at the office. Work demanding again today, but managed to slip off for my third swim of the week at lunchtime. Worked late, then found myself, unaccountably, taking advantage of the agency's monthly free bar and doing lots of worky gossip and networking. Anton and Anna have lent me a new Frasier DVD and watched a couple of episodes before bed. He's my hero. Replied ...