under another sun

A telescope More unspeakable nightmares. No idea why any more. Spent the morning working, and then broke off to have an eye test. Nice man who spoke a mangled ophthalmologist's language. I've written extensive websites about eye health, but found him hard to follow. The upshot, as far as I could tell, was that my peepers are no better or worse than last time. This was something of a result as I didn't have to buy new ones. Spectacles I mean, not eyes, that would be grotesque. Met Randolph for an overdue and rather jocular coffee this afternoon. Good to talk to a fellow writer, and hear about the ordeal of getting his new play staged, makes all my projects sound like a walk in the park. We got to talking about the comedies of the election, and literary quarrels where he told me about Dostoevskyand Turgenev. This from the New York Review of Books: Dostoevsky quarreled with Turgenev because they resented his “foreign” leanings and habits. Meeting in Baden-Baden, Dostoevsky tol...

A happy worker First several hours work for my lovely French client, and also given a brief for a new job to do over the next few days. Chatting to Jeanne was difficult due to the hammering and drilling going on in her office, till it emerged that it had been burgled over the long weekend. After the French work finished, I finalised the a press release and programme with Matt. I sent the press release off to the local paper and radio. Also sussed out a printer nearby to print my words for This Concert. These will be available at the concerts in a signed limited edition of 100. Then down to the Brighton Tavern to put up a poster. Home to write invites, and lay out the libretto booklet before I get it printed. Chatting to Randolph today, who I'll meet for a coffee later in the week. Also to Lorraine, and to Mum who told me an appalling story about Salty bringing a live rat into their bedroom, which then ran up mum's trouser leg, and was later carried struggling out into the garde...

Bored by books It's an incentive, when shuffling about through receipts and computer files, to realise if you can find legitimate expenses these will lessen the amount of tax to pay. There is also some small part of me that quite likes the feeling you get after you've finished. It must be how organised people feel all the time: tidy and clear in the head. So if somebody asks me how much I spent on an Ikea office chair I can supply them with an answer. Pow! And the invoice number too. They don't call it taxing for nothing, however, and by the afternoon vacuuming had become an attractive displacement activity. Also went to the gym, although feeling slightly underpowered today. Randolph, my new American playwright friend, called around in the afternoon sporting a hat. We mooched off to Starbucks for a chat over a large latte. Randolph - being a Republican and a tad to the right of Genghis Khan - is a bracing change from the lily livered liberals I tend to consort with. He loat...

A short cut to sausages Up early to go for a walk in the country with Anton. Up to his house and then down to get a bus, talking about a new audiobook, the Time Traveller's Guide to Medieval England by Ian Mortimer. I took Anton's advice and downloaded it this week, and am very pleased with it. A great concept, which instantly makes you wonder why it has not been done before. We alighted slightly beyond the village of Pheasant's Green, and walked along the road, past a gaggle of complaining white geese. Once we had walked with trepidation past the warning clay shoot in progress signs, the route was straight and easy as it had been an old railway line. Paused for lunch on a bench which someone had donated to look out on his beloved countryside. Annoyingly, my sore throat was making it a bit of a chore, so we stopped after a couple of hours. Towards the end, we walked through a herd of cattle, Anton helpfully mentioned that someone had been trampled to death in such circums...

Making the connection Woke with a stinking headache, for the night before I had been out with Bob. Being a fullish moon, it was perhaps inevitable that the Mad Dog should stalk into the Twitten. Discussed many pressing issues such as Bob's spiritual quest, economic glooms, and the ways of Carl Watson. As ever, some time was given to the notion that we were not going to drink too much. After gulping a groggy cup of tea, he set off. My new computer refused to connect to the Internet, so after two long conversations, and being forced to reassemble my computer downstairs, it was fixed. It was a little after noon. Then a more welcome interruption, as Randolph stopped by, dropping off my tickets for the play. Then my work with my old agency was confirmed for next week. Annoyingly they are going to tax my fee at source, which adds to my accountancy complexities. But still, I am happy to have the work, perfectly timed, and I will be working with Al who is an old (and cheeky) friend. Best...

Nothing but the wild rain Randolph called. His play Only Free Men is going well in Lewes. He said the stress was raised as the understudy for the main female role has had to step in with a week to go. He told me he is now beginning to believe he may not have a heart attack, which is good news. The understudy was rather alarmed at the prospect, but has done well. I will see the play on Saturday. The action concerns two intelligence officers questioning a British Doctor suspected of terrorist involvement. Three bouts of thunder in Brighton, accompanied by persistent torrential rain. In the Twitten I drew up the ramparts. The weather forced Calliope indoors to grumpily sleep with her head on the corner of my keyboard, while I began last year's accounts. Luckily for me these are fairly simple: you simply get a payment at the end of the job. The outgoings, of course, are more complicated. Thank God for spreadsheets. Funny chat with Al today. I will be doing some ailment based work wit...

The dulcet tones of Microsoft Anna Downloaded a handy tool today which reads out text in the voice of Microsoft Anna. This is perfect as the robot voice can read out Skelton Yawngrave in a completely dead and uninflected way, which is a perfect editing tool. Sol Stein recommends having your manuscript read out by the worst reader you can find, so you actually hear the words for what they are. I am making better progress, but not as fast as I'd like. Working like a dog trying to get the thing finished. Voted in the European elections on the way to the gym. A vast sheet of options with the repellent BNP top of the list. Considered boycotting the whole thing. British politics an absolute shambles at the moment. Labour busy imploding all day, there is now open rebellion and Brown looks rightly doomed. Even the Guardian is calling for him to quit. A Tory government is looming. God help us. Otherwise received a box of aquatic plants which are now in my aquarium, and looking rather n...

Tasty Sprung up with a song on my lips. To be precise a Township jazz version of There's no sunshine when she's gone , as featured on the Today programme. I then had to play it on guitar too for a while, between avidly consuming the Guardian's report of Chelsea's destruction of Liverpool. The old Mad Dog meanwhile stirred uneasily upstairs, before eventually he got up to catch a train. It had been great to see him as usual. Considerately he also left his packed lunch behind in my fridge, which I enjoyed later. Turns out Mad Dogs eat an unusual combination of sardines, spelt, spinach and mango, which was all rather healthy. A note from Romy saying that her bean jar was a success and "I asked the Tobster if he could compare my bean jar with bean jars from his childhood. Unfortunately your brother couldn’t provide me with any feedback except that your grandmother’s bean jar was tasty and that mine was tasty but in a different way." Tasty is of course a high accol...

Memories of Maggie Mental clearout as I took a lunchtime stroll down the river, and made a few decisions about future directions, and to get back on track with my own plans and schemes. Couple of bracing notes from Randolph today. Looking forward to seeing him again and putting the world to rights. He was saying that his current thinking is that he traces all that's wrong with, say, Opera and is that art is being ruined by intellect. He told me about going to a horribly spiky modern Opera at Glyndebourne and longing for the parole of intermission "and then everybody I encountered if they were ENJOYING it - a small straw poll, no doubt - but did not meet A SINGLE PERSON who said they were." More delays on the trains going home tonight. Home, and I watched a drama about Margaret Thatcher's last days in power, which had a great central performance by the slightly too gorgeous Lindsay Duncan. Much as I detested Thatcher, this showed nicely the loathsome lickspittles that ...

Cat burglars and playwrights Calliope presented me with a woman's white wool glove this morning as I was working on the The Sick Day . Later I noticed her with a pair of my socks in her mouth, followed by the snick of the catflap. Calliope returned some time later, empty mouthed. I searched in vain for a sock nest in my yard and suspect her of trading socks for gloves in some cat cartel. The morning was spent happily writing, and in the afternoon I met a new friend Randolph for coffee. He is an American playwright - and it was fascinating to talk to him for two and a half hours over a single americano. Nice to discuss writerly matters, and hear about his plays. Randolph's wife writes academic books, and said "what shall I do now then, wait to die?" after getting a rejection this week. This made me laugh. Randolph's play Only Free Men was on at the Brighton's Komedia last year, and will be on in Lewes this year. He told me he is also working on a new play abou...

Gripping the mince pie Friday... So that would be when the work comes in then. Actually not bad work, and clearly briefed, and it didn't break my holiday mood too much. Among other things, I wrote four little case study monologues: two men with erection problems, and a man and a woman with glaucoma. Ye Gods. Broke off after lunch of miso soup (a packet job but organic, and with no poisonous MSG) to climb up the hill so Anna could tell me what I needed to do in my forthcoming role as Santa, and to give her an overdue birthday present. I have been practicing my "ho-ho-ho" (not something you could get away with in - say - Brooklyn) and have opted for mellow and rich as opposed to booming. I don't want to create a team of little Santaphobics, who will begin to loathe Christmas, drop out of school, and end up assassinating Archduke Franz Ferdinand or something just because of a Wrong Santa. It's a responsibility. My Godchildren Klaudia and Oskar both spontaneousl...