under another sun

Lorraine working from home this morning, which was nice to have tea together. We noticed the mushrooms were gone as mysteriously and quickly as they came. Thinking about my friend Tim Gallagher and trying to make an old poem about him work, had the image, which I rejected, of him disappearing into a wood like Keats's nightingale. A short walk at lunchtime, then slept heavily for an hour this afternoon. Luckily just before I went out this evening I did an hour's work I was pleased with. Then, before Lorraine got in, I walked to The Nightingale Room above the Grand Central pub opposite the station, which was tonight hosting a poetry reading. I will be reading there at the end of next month, although having done a blog post about this, it turns out the day has been changed and now it is October 25th. Anyway it seemed churlish not to turn up for some poetry, before I go on there. I knew a couple of people Michaela Ridgway and John McCullough with whom I had a brief chat about J...

More slow and steady progress on the book, then a quick go in the gym. Didn't get so swimmy headed this time, and even had a conversation with a man in the changing room about locks. Lots of eastern Europeans at the gym in the last month or so. Had a new stair carpet laid, by two guys that came around when they were supposed to, charged a very reasonable price and did a good job. Weird when that happens. When the carpet people were here, I was listening to the World at One on Radio 4, and growing increasingly alarmed at the news about the Crimea. There is quite a strong chance of deadly trouble with Russia over this -- and I can't think when I have been more alarmed by the news. As I happened to be briefly on Facebook as I was listening I put something on there to this effect. Only one person commented, Robbie, who made light of it saying it was like Gibraltar. Facebook is not a medium for debate. Back to the Nightingale with Lorraine, who'd had a long week, in the even...

Irritated and out of sorts this morning. Up early and editing a press release for Sophie. Later a protracted conversation with her about a God awful brochure her client was proposing to use. Another call from the bastards pretending to be some kind of windows help desk. Worked on the book of course, and broke off to go to the gym, where I trundled on the cross trainer till my head got swimmy after about 25 minutes. A improvement that certainly improved my mood too. The Frogmore Papers arrived today containing my poem Cicada . Finally at the fourth attempt this poem reaches print unmolested, albeit cramped on a page with another poem. In the evening, after a chat with Lorraine, off to The Nightingale Theatre for a theatrical mingle. A small gathering, but interesting. Talking to a young Nigerian writer, an actor called Thor, a producer, and Kick a writer I'd met before, and Jules, who is trying to stage a play featuring Edith Sitwell. Additionally two guys working in the Nighti...