under another sun

A day of reading. I read Why You Should Read Children's Books, Even Though You Are So Old and Wise an excellent essay by Katherine Rundell that Rosie had recommended I read. Really stout defence of the value of children's literature and why adults should read it too. A couple of pleasingly anxious short stories by the horror writer Shirley Jackson, from my new collection The Lottery and Other Stories . I finished a group of four short stories by Thomas Ligotti called In a Foreign Town, in a Foreign Land. At one point I went to the laundrette and started The White Book by Han Kang, a book which I took from Janet's things last time I went to her flat with Madeline, as nobody had wanted it. There was a one-armed older man in the launderette.  I felt bad that I had nipped in and, without realising, used the only free drier before he had finished. A woman helped him load and unload the tumbler at one point, which was good. He pointed out I had dropped a  sock, and I wanted to...

Still not feeling quite right. Worked at my new short story reading a full first draft. It is called Lithops and based on an idea I have had for ages. The idea of a flowering stone is lovely.   I have become aware that some of the ideas that never really made it as poems, were really ideas for short stories, so I have many I can write. I made more arrangements for the cover of my Kindle book. Also chatted to Mum and will see her tomorrow. In the afternoon I commenced my health themed week strolling through park down into town to see Jewel at Sundial House for a deep tissue massage, my first in over a year. Quite painful at times, but you know it is doing you good. Walked home, had a nice chat with Caroline our next door neighbour. A quiet night in tonight. I cooked salmon and a stir fry. Lorraine tired. Beth home late after working. Early to bed, where I read another chapter of The Haunting of Hill House , an excellent horror story by Shirley Jackson. Lorraine reading throu...

Train cancelled, and a slower journey in. Standing outside the tube entrance at Victoria station, looking about me at everyone standing patiently looking at their phones. I looked at the sky, because you could see a bit of it. Eventually allowed to shuffle sheep-like down to the platform. Reading We have always lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson, which I didn't manage to quite finish. I had read the first chapter to Lorraine a few times, but it was one of those that made her fall asleep. Quite like its American Gothic ways. From work, which is disorganised and it seems I am going to have to do loads of long hours soon, which I feel wouldn't be necessary if they were a little more organised. Then a slightly trying journey to Betterton Street, and the haven of the Poetry Cafe. Mum was already there, and all the poets, and Sarah Barnsley. Sat with Mum till it was time to get organised. Sarah Barnsley was hosting the evening, and in good spirits. She and Abigail Parry ar...