under another sun

Good work on The New Idea this morning. Managed in five hours to finish a particularly thorny section. Took myself out in the rain to celebrate. As I walked down the backstreet passed a soaked woman battling with her umbrella, who said, 'turned out nice again' with an almost wartime spirit. Found myself in St Bartholomew's church again. My smile unreturned by the snowy-haired ladies who were guardians of the empty place. I took a pew for half an hour and looked at the altar's glistering Byzantine-style gold mosaic work. The halo of an angel triggered a Proustian memory of making Christmas cards with glitter at my first school St Martin's in Guernsey. Jotted some lines down in the church, and left with a question to myself that what if the Christian promise was actually true? How would you feel if it were suddenly proved beyond question that there really had been someone watching over you all the way from childhood? I wish I could believe it. Then to Sainsbury...

The soft bongs of history Mum is feeling and sounding much better. She can think more clearly, and even went out for a pub lunch. This is all most excellent progress. For me a quiet day, involving a few bits and pieces, and a bit of moving things around at home. One of these things was my grandparents' clock. It used to hang on the wall of their 16th century granite cottage in Guernsey. This cottage was an extremely spooky place at night. And if you happened to be lying awake, the fact that you could hear this clock strike sonorously from the fathom of darkness below was reassuring and strangely rational. When I was five I stood on a chair to reach its hands. I wanted to move them so that I wouldn't have to wait so long for a children's television programme to appear. When my grandfather died Mum gave it to me. I remember her and Mase, having driven around to my house, carrying it indoors like a child's coffin. I've had it repaired at some cost once, but it doesn...

Memories are made of this Sometimes the simplest-seeming briefs are the ones that sap your soul. I worked on the train this morning, and after an hour I thought I had cracked it. But got into the agency and the Gnome pointed out that I'd got the product name slightly wrong, which meant I had to start again. Going through a phase of making silly mistakes like this. Perhaps a couple of weeks off showing Sprinkles the delights of England will be the refresher my brain needs. In the office slogged against the clock till lunchtime with the Gnome and then we went for a pleasant walk upriver into Chiswick, stopping in the Black Lion for a few minutes where we glugged some sparkling mineral water and cranberry juice. After work, I met First Matie and Matty on the terrace of the Riverside Studios, as it is still unseasonably hot. We ate and had a quick drink, with First Matie and Matty drinking the infamous pink wine. We three, the FB and others all took part in the infamous Summer of Pink ...