under another sun

Unable to stand without vile pain, I simply remained in bed, while poor Lorraine got on with all the house jobs we had intended to do this weekend, such as painting exterior walls white. Felt guilty about this, but the result of my horizontality and sleeping was that my ankle hurt a little less tonight. Slept a good deal of the day. And Lorraine went out in the evening, having slogged all day, and had fun with Anton, Rosie and Dawn, while I slowly repaired. I did however, watch a heartwarming documentary on my laptop.'Searching for Sugarman' was about Sixto Rodriguez who released two albums in the early seventies that sank without trace in the US but made him an enormous star in South Africa -- a fact he knew nothing about. Nobody knew anything about him in SA other than what was on the record covers, so legends grew up about how he had died in horrible circumstances: that he had shot himself on stage, or set himself on fire and burned to death. Film of him playing his firs...

If you want to know if people are mad or not, simply have a look at their gardens. The next door neighbour to Mum and Mas has replaced the lawn with gravel, has a pair of concrete dogs which he waters sometimes, and recently proudly showed Mas some nasty looking plastic flowers, tucked out of sight of his own back widows. After gazing blearily these garden atrocities from the bedroom window, I hoofed downstairs to have a fast breakfast. Made off with five jars of bramble jelly and wild plum jam too. A beautiful sunny day. Mas gave me a lift to Stanmore, where I spoke to Lorraine on the phone before tubing to work. Into the tube found myself standing next to a nicely presented woman who reeked astonishingly of garlic. Work again perfectly manageable, writing lots of bitty things. I slunk off to Kitty's Cafe in the industrial park to buy some lunch. Waiting to take away my Pad Thai I sat next to two men, an American and a South African, who were discussing cicadas. One of my coll...