under another sun

A decent morning's work, on the new short story, which is still going well I hope. Writing with a bit more flow now. Beth nannying today, back with young Tilly. Turns out she did not have coronavirus, but tonsillitis. Beth also saw a flat today which she and the girlfriend she is hoping to flat share with both liked and have applied for. Other than writing the new story, no news from my pals in Paris. Listening to The Plot Against America by Philip Roth as I took my stroll for an hour and forty mins. There are some frightening resonances with Trump's US. I realised I read another of Roth's books a couple of years ago, called The Anatomy Lesson. Still absolutely loving the short stories of Bruno Schulz -- which  I recommended to Anton today. His writing is extraordinary. Rushed at by dogs yet again today. Two small dogs yapping and growling at me. I am beginning to feel it is personal. I cooked this evening, making a chilli with Lorraine's special Persian rice. ...

Last day before the plumbers arrive. Email working today, as I will need to be on hand for workmen for the next few days, a long walk this morning. Then lots of tiny tasks such as proofing my poem War diary in 1/72 scale, replied to my accountants, chase an unpaid invoice and other tiny tasks. A longish call with Janet, understandably feeling sad after her sister's death. I arranged to go around to see her next week. Finished The Anatomy Lesson , and begrudgingly admire it. Next up  from Roth is  Portnoy's Complaint,  but only after I finish several other books. I consulted the I Ching this afternoon, which I have not done for some time. It gave me the most positive reading I have ever had from it over several decades. Irrational thought it is, I felt quite boosted by it. Just because something is irrational, doesn't mean it is meaningless. Football this evening, England taking on Colombia, and amazingly enough beating them in the penalty shoot out. It was a...

Hot again, blue cloudless sky. Resumed my Monday desk with a song on my lips, but the melody quickly snatched away by BT internet. I could send or receive no email till the evening, and wasted time on futile conversations with people at BT, too time-consuming and dreary to go into.   Ordered tiles for the bathroom. And was watchful of Brian who had I think been in a nasty fight the night before, and was moping about but seems to be not physically harmed. Perhaps it is just his pride. More Philip Roth. The Anatomy Lesson  is full of kvetching* and not thought of as his best, and quite amazingly self-indulgent. It is one of three semi-autobiographical novels about the consequence of having written a semi-autobiographical novel. It did make me laugh when the main character, Nathan Zukerman, (an author of a famous semi-autobiographical novel) is on a plane talking to the man next to him, and telling him that he is a pornographer, and going into incredible detail about his imag...

The bliss of being able to think and work in peace.  Did some writing outside too, poems, blog posts and admin. Before it got too hot. Cats basking or slinking away from the sun. Sonia in this afternoon, doing her bit for Bulgarian tourism, showing me you tube video of her hometown  Veliko Tarnovo . Did some long outstanding admin too, which made me feel good. Lorraine home, and rather frazzled from the week. The end of the school year is a few weeks away, and as a Lorraine-watcher, I realise this gets to be a real grind. We went to the Preston Park Tavern for a meal. The prices have climbed greatly, and the beer is expensive, but its convenience just trumps it. Weird day with no football. Reading the Philip Roth book, The Anatomy Lesson . Not sure what I feel about it.  Not read Roth before, and his thinly veiled autobiographical stuff is either absurdly indulgent or brilliant. Or both.