under another sun

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...

Anomaly Feeling vile. A bad night's sleep full of aches and sweats. As the day progressed, however, I began to feel somewhat more human. Naturally, as I am ill, I have work. Spent the morning editing long documents about strokes and AF. Because I was so brain dead I started it all wrong, and wasted a couple of hours. Meanwhile Max had come to Brighton to be on the beach with her bairns but I couldn't get free to share my bugs with them. Lorraine, however, made of stern stuff. She was off and out to work without complaint, and not back till 11 having attended a leaving party. In the late afternoon, having finished, I went for a coffee with Cath in the park cafe. I'm enjoying having a park so close, and to see trees and smell the rose garden, and watch the gangs of children happily eking out the last of summer. Lorraine's TV system allows you to watch all the stuff you've missed when you want to. Saw a documentary by Peter Ackroyd on the Romantics. And lat...