Confessions of a plate spinner
A hot night, in this unseasonal heatwave, and we slept with the windows open. Something buzzing around my head in the night, probably a moth. We got up for an early breakfast, before working more on the seven poems, and Lorraine made ready to drive off to Ashford to collect Pat and Maureen to come to stay. I broke off for an iced coffee and gossip with Yvonne at 11 sitting outside the Grumpy Chef for an hour, felt a hand on my back, and Jane passed to say hello. Glimpsed what I thought was a large clown out of the corner of my eye, turns out it was a tall older woman wearing a long white dress with splashes of primary colour on it. Home a salad lunch and trying to to hone the poems without losing their spontaneity and life. Then to the gym again. As yesterday, pleasant to lurk in the cool of the air-conditioned room, and unlike yesterday there were not muscular schoolboys swarming on the weights. I trundled on the cross trainer listening to The Rest Is Politics. ...