under another sun

A catless morning, which felt a bit weird but made things simpler. Breakfast then packing all day. Saw an imaginary Calliope twice during the day, once as a pillow and the other as a stump of wood in the garden. Carrying things made much easier without Calliope getting under our feet on the stairs and so on. Lorraine and I intensively focused and wrote lists and were methodical. Chatted with Mum, in between bouts of packing, whose car has miraculously made it through the MOT again. And to Anton, who is on crutches at the moment after his knee cartilage operation and a bit fed up. I maintain he should order some kind of parakeet or perhaps and African grey parrot to complete the look. We were always just on track, even after grappling with washing machines and garden pots and retaping boxes more solidly. By around 7pm we were done, with just a few bits of last minute stuff for first thing tomorrow. Enlivened, however, by slinking off to The Preston Park Tavern, where we had a brace of b...

My back steadily better, if somewhat sore still. A day of rest, so naturally Lorraine and I packing like a pair of maniacs. Beth popped in after her teaching for a quick chat, and a big mummy hug. Not having Lorraine in Brighton is a bit weird for her.  I spoke to the Tobster this evening, while sprawled exhausted on the gold sofa. He's pleased to be teaching again, even if education is being steadily dumbed down. Breezing home in a Tessla at the end of the day mitigates that a bit. Romy doing high-level Romy things with aplomb.  It's funny. It's the physical mess that does my head in. Living in a house where everything is upside down, and every drawer is emptied, and boxes and bags of stuff make walking across the rooms makes me feel a bit crazy. I wonder when I became a person who craves a bit of order as opposed to devil may care chaos.

A bit more thunder last night, but I slept much better. Busy on podcast business this morning, writing to Rachel Boast, a firm no at last, a poet pal I knew in my early days, Mimi, and Pete Reynard whose book Manland I read and enjoyed. Also texting Mark Hartley, Helen Russel, Keith about work and speaking to Mum. Apparently Maureen looking forward to having us stay for a bit, as she can torment me.   Once up, and steadied, Lorraine doing bits of sorting and packing. She and I went for a walk this afternoon around Preston Park, and got back to find a second hand car door on an awkward pallet outside the house. Had to clear her car of stuff we were going to take to the charity shop, but then couldn't fit it in the boot so had to bring it inside. Sam methodically dismantling the evil pallet afterwards. Lorraine retreating into Star Dew Valley for a bit instead of looking at all the piles of things in the front room.  In other news, Sue sent Lorraine a bunch of flowers and three...

Packing A day of packing. Atrocious pouring rain this morning when the box delivery man arrived dripping. With Lorraine's supervision, I made decisions about packing and Lorraine and I gradually filled a dozens of boxes. Calliope persistently climbing in as we did so. Meanwhile the agency calling to squeeze some work out of me on Friday morning. It was ever thus: the times when you make it absolutely clear you can't work is when folks beg you most to do it. Tiring work, and dust from the more untroubled volumes of books making Lorraine sneeze. Calliope scratching at the boxes and climbing on everything. In the evening off to the gym with Lorraine, who is already 100 times friendlier with the people there than I have ever been. Another good session. Both slumped after on the gold sofa having done a decent day's work.