under another sun

Up early again, and decided to write a piece for my other blog about the Marketing involved in the referendum . Then read some of Marilyn's romantic fiction book Occupying Love and enjoying its Guernsey descriptions. It is a pacy love story set in Guernsey during the occupation. In the afternoon off shopping picking up some bits for Janet and Ken, then calling round on them for tea and biscuits. Janet has been really badly knocked back by a virus she picked up a while ago. I hadn't realised she was in such bad shape. Ken looked better than I've seen him look in quite a while though, although Janet says he has had a dementia diagnosis. Sad to see my old friends going through hard times. Home at tea time and I sat outside again, reading Occupying Love and drinking a can of cold lager.  Whoever tells you that drink is not the answer sometimes is a fool. I suggested to Lorraine that we go to the Preston Park Tavern for supper, and when she came back, and I'd FaceTimed ...

A better day, and reasonable progress on the book, despite discovering early on that I had missed the poetry meeting last night. Apologised to Robin who organised the workshop. The unexpected good news, however, is that I may have a poetry pamphlet in the offing later this year as Robin is starting up a wee press. More details when this emerges. In other news spoke to a new contact called Stephen, who is trying to organise rehearsal spaces in Brighton. Otherwise tweaked Betty's poster for her show, spoke to Sophie while driving to her mother's house, who pinged over a Press Release for me to look at this evening. Also talked to carpet people who are coming around on Friday. Heard too from Guernsey exile Marilyn Chapman  whose first book is now out as an e-book on Amazon here . I did unmanacle myself from my desk to walk around the park for 50 mins nosing into the not so secret garden, and walking about in circles listening to a podcast about the Phoenicians a faint sniff of...

Bad night's sleep, triggered by cat fighting. Found myself wandering outside at 2:30 half asleep in a dressing gown shooing fighting cats from the door. Could not sleep for some time afterwards. Felt a bit coldy and tired all day, while my Lorraine has a really bad back. Sleepy on the train this morning, listening to Ravi Shankar. Karam springing on the train and sat next to me in London. Out with Kate at lunchtime,  to pick up a wrap from The King of Falafels, chatting a little about the ways of the Forest of Dean and the vexed question of who killed the bears  in the late 19th century. Any afternoon achievements due to the benefit of coffee. Pleased to see that Marilyn aka Guernsey Girl has a book coming out . Home gone eight, and a really nice letter from Jeremy Page the editor of the Frogmore Papers saying a poem going awol, like mine had, 'had never happened in 30 years of publishing' and said he would publish it in the next issue. Things like that happen to...