under another sun

A good end to the week. I felt as if I had been struggling with my identity of being a writer, and if I should chuck it all in, and focus on something less pointless, but as Wordsworth says in the Prelude, "The Poet, gentle creature as he is,/Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; /His fits when he is neither sick nor well,/ Though no distress be near him but his own/Unmanageable thoughts." Although the issue was this week whether I was a poet at all, which I suppose is demonstrable by having quite a few actual poems published. But this proves nothing as there is an enormous amount of rubbish published (some of which I witnessed last night). On that note, someone posted Facebook posts of one or two people reading, but as I was sitting near the front, they were also loving portraits of the area of concern, which now appears to be the size of Australia. Bah. But today it was all different. Did some practical stuff, like a spot of billing for the scraps of freelance work I...

Feeling brighter after the best night's sleep I have had in a while. But throat still raw and sore. Improved mood today generally, tinkered with some poems and sent out a poetry submission to an excellent online magazine called Antiphon in the morning. We have exchanged contracts on the Old Church Hall so we will be leaving here in two weeks to the day, to go into rented accommodation in Haywards Heath till our new house becomes available. Off to the barbers to get a haircut. It is a fact now that the area of concern is no longer a concern, it is an actual bald patch which is spreading like an angry bush fire. I am going bald, the very word is like a slap on the scalp. And even the artful angle of the barber showing me his handiwork with a mirror couldn't disguise the pilgarlic travesty of my head. Immediately after this I went off to see Jewel for an hour long deep tissue massage on my rigid back, shoulders and neck. Came out feeling as if I had been beaten up for all t...

L and I up and at em' (albeit slowly) this morning. Off to The Cricketers to discuss things about next week. A bit of wrangling with them, for although we booked the rooms for the day, they have also booked in a small party there during the afternoon, potentially disrupting our decoration of the room.  All part of the process, but wearying. This done off to get my hair, or what remains of it, cut. Area of concern is fully established now; a powerful country in a fading continent of head hair. An attentive cut that involved taking care of business with a new upsurge in replacement hairs such as eyebrows, rogue neck hairs, ear sprouts etc. for a £10. Bargain. To the gym then, for a substantial workout, having been up in London for the last few days. Home and football focus on the gold sofa, a bit of a snooze, then off to Seven Dials, still half asleep, to meet up with Rosie to celebrate her birthday (which is the day after mine) with some of her pals. Went to Blenio for a fairl...

In an excellent mood, off to the quack, who is a lovely man and with a medical student who he quizzed with testing questions. Off the antibiotics for the time being, thank God. Some new pills which the pharmacist, who seems to like me, took me into a little room to discuss. Then, as my hair had passed its clown-like tipping point, to the barbers. Anton says there are two patterns in  male baldness, 'the rockabilly', a cooler sort of frontal balding favoured by him and,  less cool, 'the benedictine' which my area of concern is steadily turning into. Came out with a sleek head, and pointed it in the direction of Janet and Ken's house. Delighted to see Ken on his feet to greet me with a beardy hug when I arrived. He was full of praise for Janet, and mentally sharp, and he in far better shape than I had expected, and they are tinkering with his meds to get things right, and was on the receiving end from his doctor about actually taking them. Ken is being visited eve...

If the cap fits Really enjoyable day. A leisurely start with Lorraine followed by intensive tidying up of our study area. It feels amazingly good to have it all sorted. Then a session in the afternoon of Christmas shopping. We accidentally found ourselves in Mad Hatters buying hats. Lorraine bought a lovely grey hat, which is slightly 1920s-ish to my eyes, but she looks fab in it. I tried various hats on, but nothing was grabbing my attention till I tried on a cap. I have always assumed caps wouldn't suit me but I found I was rocking a Irish wool cap, and so Lorraine and I walked out of the shop sporting hats. It was a clear and cold day, and it was good to have a warm head, especially the part of my head rendered vulnerable by The Area of Concern. Thus clad, we did a good amount of Christmas shopping and at no point did I feel like stabbing anyone. Sensibly repaired to The Basketmakers at the end of the day, where it was really nice to sit and chat to my lovely Lorraine. Bumped i...

Stairs Lorraine up at six and out before seven. Found myself worrying about money as I drained my pre-seven cup of tea and Calliope rubbed my face. The sooner I can get the Twitten rented the better. The drain from the Kenny coffers has been unrelenting for the last few months, and earnings have been patchy. After my wee break in Guernsey this weekend I need an unrelenting focus on filthy lucre. A haircut this morning. I have begun a sudden thinning on top, and the area of concern is annexing virgin territory. When my hair grows the side bits are still thick, which makes my head look ridiculous and vaguely-table shaped. Barber was a man with one of those earrings which stretch the skin into a stringy loop around a hoop, and played in a heavy metal band. Then to the Twitten, to show a charming American writer called Victoria around my abode accompanied by a Springer Spaniel dog who she spoke to in French. I met them at the station, and discovered that they divide their time between New ...

Gleaming This morning my throat felt as if I had been eating cactus sandwiches. I hadn't, of course, so the raw throat business was highly annoying. Morning briefing teleconference rescheduled three times. During one of these interludes I sloped up to my barbers, accompanied Betty who was also on her way to get her hair done. At Betty's place they give you glasses of wine. At Just Gents all is changed. Only the walrus-faced butcher remains, and the other two, both rather good barbers, have been replaced by surly lurkers. Far worse than this is the unavoidable fact that the area of concern is aggressively spreading: the remaining hair on the top of my head is increasingly sparse. As the sausage-fingered barber worked on my thinning thatch I could glimpse the curve of my gleaming scalp like the horizon of a hostile planet. Back to work on newsletters for people attending a congress about haemophilia, and a bit more on strokes. All this good for the Kenny coffers of course....

Difficult lifts Back up to London again, leaving my Crackberry at home. I felt as if I had gone to work without my trousers. Into work trying to avoid seeing the area of concern spotlit and reflected inside the mirrored lift. I now have a distinct bald patch. I am picturing follicles leaping, free at last, like lemmings from my pate. Discovered First Matie sitting in the desk opposite me, and we bickered a bit about who was getting the teas in. Left work at a little before seven after a funny meeting with The French Bloke, who also during the day had thoughtfully described mum's operation in rather graphic detail. Off to see mum after work. She was in some pain and there is still no date for her release. She had eaten but this made her very uncomfortable. Otherwise in better spirits than I would be. Set off for home at eight. Crammed into the hospital lift for about seven minutes, which went to the top of the building and then down again, stopping at each floor. One woman asking to...