under another sun

Up with a desire to get on with things, and even made a surprisingly long list, but  managed to side-tracking myself from achieving much of it. Reset with a sunny walk this lunchtime. Lorraine off to get her hair cut in a glamorous fashion this afternoon in Hove and also to see Innis and Rosie. Innis sent me a Happy National Poetry Day text, which was nice of him. Personally I am a bit humbuggish about it. Every day is a blinking poetry day round these parts etc.  This afternoon two hours of the Understory Conversation, which never fails to be interesting. One of the poets, called Emma Jones has such a distinctly convincing voice in everything she writes that I'm greatly in admiration of her. Lorraine and I watched an abominable film called The Sphere . A-list cast in an underwater turkey. Spoke to the Toby for an hour this afternoon, also to Mum too.   

Sunlight in the abyss A few hours drugged sleep, and wasn't too bad for a post migraine day. Dealt with a few business matters first thing. Funny how jobs turn up in threes like buses. Some negotiation needed as they all want me to start in the same week. But obviously with the world's financial systems going to hell in a handcart, the idea of making some last cash before I start having to grow turnips in the twitten and burn literature for heat is quite comforting. Scored chewy brown bread and pain aux raisins for breakfast, and a spot of Guardian reading. Headline: Staring into the abyss with a picture of Gordon Brown looking at an out of focus Alistair Darling, his chancellor. Left Mum and Mase with the cat and zoomed off for yet another chirporactor's appointment. Where I was cracked in ways I have never been cracked before. Then I had an enjoyable lunch with Mum and Mase in the The Sussex Yeoman, a cat's spit from my house. Food quite nice in there, and in the bri...

National Poetry Day After working on my poetry manuscript in the morning, Mum and I met for breakfast and then went for another walk. Walked up the water lanes to the wishing pool and made a couple of wishes, and then we walked from Jerbourg down to St Martin's point and then along the cliffpath to Fermain bay, where we had lunch, amid interested ducks. Then up the Fermain valley, which is steep and Mum reminded me that my Grandmother always used to walk backwards up hills. We tried this for a bit, which later resulted in oddly achey shins. In the evening off in a cab to go to the Princess Royal Arts Centre to attend an evening to celebrate National Poetry Day. There is now an active poetry group on the island, called Poets in Motion and, in something of a dream come true, I got to read a couple of my Guernsey poems to an interested local audience. I met several local poets and heard some really good work. One poem that stayed with me was a poem by Maurice Sangan about the end of ...