under another sun

Started early, after Lorraine had brought me some tea in bed. Cleaned catsick off the floor, did laundry and discovered this morning that something had bitten me about a dozen times around my knee. I suspect a knee flea. De-fleaed the cats later. Calliope calm about it, Brian acting as if we were trying to murder him. Started work for my French friends about pigs, which only took an hour and so wasn't much of a swine. Then writing a long to do list, and as other mooted work did not appear, I was able to happily begin work on the children's novel at nine.   I broke off  to go to the gym, where I had a good workout but managed to drop my watch while getting changed. It landed perfectly face down on a hard surface and the second hand broke and some of the numerals fell off too. Second hand and three ones sliding about over the watch face. Home, and worked on for a while, then did cooking. Lorraine tired from work. Me also tired. Another Monday.

Flea glee At last, the fleas abate. I have found only two flea corpses about which Calliope and I capered with glee. Saw First Matie for a coffee this morning, after she had returned from a MRI scan of her wrist, which she'd hurt falling downstairs at her home. Luckily (given that she is starting a two month writing gig tomorrow) is not broken, and she can drive too. We sat outside a cafe for half an hour, with the long-faced Puffin straining at the leash and generally seeking attention. Then, for me, gym and the Hulk legs machine for half an hour, and home to the news that one of my clients paid me early which means I have was able to pay my tax bill and live this month. Yippee... Result! Began tinkering with poems. No stomach for anything resembling work yet.

Message from the middle ages Urgent vet call this morning. As I am still picking at fleas like a medieval monk. The cat mountebank says that it can take up to two weeks for all the fleas to die once you have sprayed them with your potions, and dosed your familiar till the poor thing is so strung out it starts meowing Moorish crumhorn solos. Bah. Still the atrocious weasel Calliope was more lively this morning, and attacked my feet and hand by biting it with savage headshakes once she’d sunk her teeth in. Plenty of errands to run today, altering my websites, doing some French work, combing fleas out of Calliope’s fur, sending letters to musicians, going to the bank, supermarket etc. And bah to admin. I want to write something fresh now. With the publication of A Guernsey Double I have cleared away quite a few poems, and it has left landscape less cluttered. It is great. Computer tricknology acting up: this blog’s sidebar has disappeared to the foot of the page. Broadband sluggish, compu...

Spitfire in a blue sky Off into the countryside this afternoon, to Borde Hill. It is a heavenly English garden with some quirky dells and ponds. Annoyingly my camera battery ran out the second I fixed on a scene. However Lorraine, Beth and I wandered about happily in the mysteriously empty gardens. There were old fashioned roses that I could have smelled for hours, lavender, mock orange, and all kinds of fragrances, including a strange deep red, poppy-sized flower with an unmistakable aroma of chocolate. We sat the dappled shade under a stately tree, and listened to the wind moving through the trees all around. The sky was faultless blue and the day had a timeless quality, only enhanced when a wartime Spitfire flew low over the green valley. Later went to the fish shop, and I bought some bloodworms for my fish and also eight red eyed tetras which were divided between Beth's aquarium and mine. In the evening watched the world cup final. A fairly dour uninspiring affair where Spain ...

Back to the Basketmakers Woke up after dreaming I was visiting a new Channel Island a little to the north west of Guernsey. It was almost flat, and very French, and its waters were full of beatiful fish I'd never seen. Then I was on a ferry which ran into a suddenly freezing sea, and I was the only person with a coat. Once L and I were up and breakfasted off to the Supermarket, and went our separate ways. After doing a few essential things such as hoovering and straightening my house up after the flea traumas, and watching the sea mist roll into town from my study window, went back to the pub. For a belated celebration of John's birthday with Matt and Lorraine. Great fun of course. But I have officially now drunk enough for a while, and want to get on with stuff again. The evening lolling about at home. To my distress, I discovered a flea on my trousers, which depressed me greatly. However I vacuumed a myriad flea corpses today though, so perhaps one flea does not make a summer...

The undead Mercifully bite-free night. Off to the smoke. A fairly chilled day, and my stock is high with this agency, as the work I did for them won them a big pitch last week. Went to the nearby Plum cafe with Keith and another guy at lunch, and bumped into Alice and Helen and was kissed by both. Found myself having an exotic lamburger and a coke. Felt all north American. Afternoon ditto to the morning, but working with Keith which is always fun. Spent some time searching for photographs of cityscapes until my eyes bled. Home at last, and cooked some grub and sat on the gold sofa and saw a flea jump onto my trousers like some awful wer-flea or flea zombie. Cue another bout of spraying and laundry. Meanwhile, Calliope is subdued and sleepy. I'm wondering if the new anti flea drops have affected her. It's all a bit of a nightmare, skin crawling tonight even though there is nothing on me. Did some more French work till late, for there is no rest for the wicked. Then downloaded so...

A Twitten Chernobyl A poor night's sleep being crawled over by fleas. Up and showered for some considerable time, feeling oppressed by having to schlepp to London, while simultaneously doing some French work, and addressing flea problem. Phoned vet this morning, and then persuaded Beth to pick up the flea spray and new flea treatment for Calliope. This she dropped around at my house. Had an inspiration on the train for the French work, and so as soon as I had half an hour at lunch was able to sort it out. Luckily not too busy at Keith's agency so I could leave on time. Back home, and treated my poor little itching weasel, and then unleashed clouds of evil flea killer, reassuringly called 'RIP' with a picture of a flea on it, into the house. Calliope, who was following me about the place interestedly, eventually having to be shut out of the house as the noxious cloud did its deadly business. The angelic Lorraine turned up just as I was finishing this sweaty furniture shi...