under another sun

Off the streets Up early as I am close to finishing The Sick Day. It has turned out quite neatly. Broadly it's about the death of a hypochondriac interspersed with spoof of real adverts for imaginary medical conditions such as slower digestive transit from the activa ads. And at the end it is revealed that the whole play has been an advert for death, which is being re-branded to be more positive and uplifting, with a new name: Better Forever! But I'm hoping the play works on a few levels. Oh well. It's kept me off the streets. In the afternoon: a bold move. I sold some of my books to a second hand store. I have finite space and many hundreds of books: loads of them I've not read for twenty years. I took some big volumes of poetry by poets I don't like. Felt a bit weird, as selling your books is a short step away from book burning and joining the Nazi party. The ones I couldn't sell I gave to Oxfam. But I'm loving the extra room, and that my poetry collect...

Urgh Hungover, I got up at five to get water. The kitten, after following me to the kitchen and back, took this as an invitation to rub her mouth on my lips with repulsive regularity. I felt too sordid to do anything else other than submit to this violation. Thankfully this eventually abated, and she fell asleep draped over my neck like a vibrating scarf. A limbo day spent waiting for copy feedback which never came. Slipped off to the nearby supermarket to buy some veggies if only to say that I had at least left the house. Woolworth's closing down sale featured heavily in the media. There is affection for Woolies. Even I, zero brand loyalty personified, liked it as a kid. It had airfix kits, and toys, and pick n mix sweets to be trousered. I remember bolting from the Neasden Woolies having stolen a single sweet, feeling horrendously guilty. I've never been cut out for crime. Dipping into the poetry collections I bought yesterday, and listening to Arvo Part on my gold sofa. The ...