under another sun

Offer accepted on the new property, at a price we are very happy with. The location is not too far from the house we were about to buy, and its denizens want to move fast. Also it is number 11, the same as my wee house in the Twitten. Clearly a good omen. Then with some relief I phoned the long-suffering agents of the spirit-channeling woman who is no nearer to making a decision than she was three months ago to tell them we were out of the deal. I almost feel sorry for her, despite the stress she has put us through. But I should have listened to my instincts, which were telling me right away that this house was not going to work out. In contrast, I have a gut feel that the new house will proceed, and that Lorraine and I will be happy there.One thing is sure, we have visited dozens of Brighton properties over the last few months - so we know exactly what is available and how much it should cost. Meanwhile doing agency work to 'jazz up' (their phrase) some eyewateringly dull...

Strapped on my hard nose and fell to bargaining over the house we liked at the weekend, and although we are waiting for confirmation tomorrow, we are optimistic about a good result. Between this kind of thing, I did small amounts of preparing for my pamphlet launch in Lewes on Wednesday. And chatted a bit to Betty and John. Beth still at home and poorly. I also took a brief for a pesky bit of work, and also saw another house this evening just in case. Feeling decisive and positive today. Off in the evening, having been driven by the lovely Lorraine, whose day included having to cover for a colleague whose husband unfortunately died today, to sit in a room in the 3 Jolly Brewers for a Brighton Poetry Stanza meeting. A good-humoured evening, with some excellent work. Nice to see Andie looking very healthy after her op, and Robin and Antony. I read a new poem which people I think liked but had little to say about in terms of improvements. Straight home after, feeling tired but in good c...

More house business today. Lorraine and I had lots of discussions too, for it is a big move and one that needs to be got right. We met the couple who were buying ours, and went around for another half hour look at the house we intend to move into, me hobbling around it orc style. One of the joys of this house is that there are traffic cones in its front garden, and as the owner is a characterful artist and shamanic healer, seeing the place as blank canvas takes an effort of the imagination. Shown around again by Tracey the human estate agent. The house has great potential and in a good part of town. This done Lorraine went off into town to see Betty, and I lurked about unashamedly watching world cup football, resting the ankle from hell and reading poems.

To London again. Listening to The Remains of the Day  and seeing Alan Davies doing the magical trick of invisibility on the bus again. Released back into the wild again for a bit from work, which is splendid news as there is such a mountain of my own stuff to do I don't know where to start. No progress on the house negotiations for the Brighton reason that the vendor is on a meditative retreat with no phone signal. Suggested to Lorraine that we keep looking this weekend in case the vendor turns out to an uberflake. There is little that is simple in this world. After work, slipped off to the nearby Poetry Cafe where I met Robin, Anthony, Tom, Ponny and Marion Tracy who made up the Brighton Stanza poets. Ordered a bowl of carrot soup,  no bread,  said the stern eastern European woman behind the counter, and a cup of tea before descending to the basement. A hot evening in the basement of the Poetry Cafe. Twelve poets in this 'Stanza Bonanza' so lots of variety. We were ...

It seems we have found a buyer for our house. Several consultations with my lovely Lorraine during the day about this. Otherwise a day at work. Find I am not enjoying work so much lately, being constantly overwhelmed by a desire to go on a holiday, which won't be there for a while, matched with trying to make sense of a patchy brief. I enjoyed, however, a few minutes in the lunchtime oasis of the newly-refurbished Folyes, where I bought a book by French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty, The World of Perception, which were lectures he gave on public radio. Just how I like my philosophy books, slim and crammed with ideas simply expressed. Home and found my new niece Claudia cooking a chicken and bell pepper curry with Lorraine. I ate well and watched the first half of a disappointing game between Brazil and Mexico, their faces lit up by screens playing candy crush, and then we went off for a walk in the park. Saw some bats, which Claudia said she had never seen before, and smel...

The Mammoth Odd beach like sensation in bed. Gradually worked out that now that there's a thaw, Calliope is trotting grit into my sheets. All day I have had this image in my head of a mammoth in a glacier. The mammoth stands for progress and my joie de vivre which is resolutely sealed away. It's the January Blues. I hate January. January is scum. The media is full of finger-wagging. An article on the BBC: a sedentary life spent staring at screens will kill you. As this is pretty much all I have done over the last few weeks, and I am morbidly obese, I decided to have a day of moving to stave off an abrupt demise. Had a longish walk by the sea, in nose-pinching cold. The pier almost deserted. A keen wind biting through the rides and stalls, and hardy men mending things out of sight with power tools. The merry-go-round horses stored in a pile under canvas sheets, and above them half a dozen silent seagulls stationary in the sky. Then to my new cafe to work. As I walked in the two...