under another sun

Up late, and a hearty breakfast. Called Mum for a cheery chat. Lorraine and I mooching about in Seaford to pop into The Crypt to see an exhibition of works by folks in the Seaford Art club. A fairly decent standard. We spoke to Palo Almond who seems a lovely smily woman, whose work we like.  Kissed Lorraine and walked through the churchyard to head to the station. Had one of those moments of unexpected happiness. I like living here.  To Brighton to meet Anton for a cheeky afternoon beer. I worked at some poems on train and then scuttled through the rain to the Battle of Trafalgar where there was a bizarrely dressed stag do, lots of spangly cowboy stuff, including a beefy guy in a black hat who towered over me at the bar.  Anton arrived, but it was noisy due to noisy boys, so we sauntered in the rain down to the Evening Star, where I went unmolested, enjoyed good beer and played several games of highly contested bones with Anton, played on a bakelite made in the USSR in 1...

Woke up at 5:30 both Lorraine and I up early, wrong footing the cats, and I caught the early train full of grey faced sleepy heads. I felt much more cheery and made it early to Tavistock Square.  I sauntered off with Kate in the lunchtime sun to look at dresses for the French Bloke and Max's wedding this weekend.  For Kate, not me, obviously. I don't look great in a dress. Although I did once wear a fetching dogs tooth two piece and a red wig while working for IBM in a once only appearance as a female impersonator. A modicum of lung disease work this afternoon.  Listening to Titus Groan on the way home, but it is heavy going. Peake writes like a poet, so much of the joy is in the description. This invites rereading. As an audiobook you plough through, and I keep thinking I must go back to look at certain passages. Another distraction is that I have become addicted to a game called Stick Cricket on my phone, which I played so obsessionally that my eyes hurt. The Shard...