under another sun

A leisurely start to a day bathed in beautiful sunlight. Breakfast, and eventually we sauntered down to Moulin Huet and as it was high tide we sat at the bench above the bay and looked out at the water whitening at the rocks for some time. Flowers everywhere, and only knowing the names of half of them. It is like end of winter in Narnia, and everything magically blossoming. The tea room with its stunning view of the bay was open, and we had sandwiches and tea there for lunch. Then back down to the bay to watch the tide falling and simply soak up the tranquility for a few hours, perching on rocks and watching small boys fishing from the rocks, and dogs plunging after a tennis ball into the waves. Sat there for a while doing the meditation of listening to all the noises first near then far: children playing and crunching the stones, the waves on the rocky shore, and the strange gulping noise the waves make under the big rock, then the sea moving across the whole bay and the breeze on...

Rainy overcast day did not dampen our cheeriness. A full Guernsey breakfast at La Barbarie before having a restful morning reading and chatting. Off to town in the afternoon, much surprised when I asked if it were still £1 as it had been in October, only to be told it was £2 for visitors now by its dour driver from Yorkshire. However all put to right by seeing Richard's poem Sunset at Cobo featured on board. Into St Peter Port and on with the business of the day: buying Lorraine an engagement ring. Busy telling each other that if nothing was found here, then we could buy something in Brighton. Much squinting at sparklers and window shopping until a promising shop was found. A fortifying cup of tea and baked potato later, we plunged in and soon emerged with a sparkler (to be re-sized) but is inset so that it is flat on top, but you have the effect of looking into the depths of the diamond. Lorraine very happy all round, which makes me heart warmed. Home for a siesta, and then t...

Up early and packing in a flap, before cabbing to Brighton station. A Flybe jet to Guernsey and only 40 minutes in duration. L and I had taken the sensible precaution of a gin and tonic in the Flying Horse in Gatwick so the flight was fine. Arrived at the Barbarie in no time, the taxi driver totally taciturn. After a warm welcome and soup and sandwiches in the bar, we made off to Icart Point. By now the day had become utterly beautiful. Because of the long cold winter delaying blooming, now the sun has arrived the cliffs were jostling with colourful wild flowers. This is what my heaven looks like. Lorraine and I sat on a bench looking west towards Petit Port. Lorraine crying as she loves the place so much. It was then because I can't imagine life without Lorraine I suggested we get married. Lorraine agreed, swayed by the powerful logic of the idea. As we were looking out to sea, feeling rather pleased with ourselves and distinctly romantic, three Germans with monstrous cameras ...

Rain hosing from the sky, luckily I was working from home and reading about postmodern irony and hyperreality. Hyperreality is the inability of the consciousness to distinguish reality from a simulation of reality, and it's all the rage. Lorraine luckily working from home today, although had to slip out a couple of times. I contented myself with chasing a payment, signing non-disclosure agreements (about which I say nothing) and pencilling in a couple of weeks freelance work after I return. A cheery mood enveloping The Old Church Hall today. Lorraine and I are off to Guernsey tomorrow, thanks be to heaven.  Maureen and Pat cat sitting for the few days we are away. Can't wait to arrive in good cheer. Next post from the Gem of the Sea.

To Staines today, with Betty on board as she was returning to Kingston. Chatting about her course and the 'nativity' play I'd like to do this year before Christmas. Beth is doing the Blondage show in Camden this summer, which is really exciting for her. After dropping Beth off at Stains station, Lorraine and I arrived at Anne's lovely house near the river, where I had spent several Christmas Eves. It was like old times, hanging out with Anne, Anton and Brian - and great to see Anton's Uncle John and Sue, who I'd not seen for far too long. John just the same, and just a warm lovely man. Oskar and Klaudia there too, and I spent a good deal of time playing with them. Especially Klaudia who set up an assault course which Anne, Brian, Lorraine, Anton and I had to negotiate. I came last, according to Klaudia, for persistent cheating. Again feeling grateful to have my Godchildren in my life. I always have fun with them. Klaudia shared some of her music with me too,...

Bumped into Adrian this morning, telling me about struggles to get the council to remove graffiti from brickwork, blasting it off himself, before the Green run council agreed too late to remove it. Told him I saw press coverage of Brighton's ruling Green party with a 'Wilting Greens' headline. Betty at home but snoozing through the day. L and I went into town to watch The London Gay Symphonic Wind orchestra in a free event in the Dome. Called en route by Matt who told us to come to the Brighton Tavern first. This was thronging with cowboys and squaws and so on.  Matt had entered The Tavern Stampede, see photos below, this involved half a dozen or so folks pelting down the street to return in coffee bean sacks, asking for a cowboy blow job cocktail, and some business of changing shirts. All rather hilarious. Thence to the dome with Matt and John, now sporting a white stick, to hear the London Gay Symphonic Winds. Rather good actually, playing everything from Elgar's ...

Up early and with a strong feeling that everything was right with the world. This mood lasted till we got downstairs and I discovered another appointment from the hospital in a couple of weeks, which sparked unpleasant speculation. L and I drove off to our bluebell woods and soon Lorraine had helped me get things in perspective. The bluebells were gorgeous, although slightly going over. They were a full month late this year, but the air was full of the delicious peppery smell that the bluebells emit. From the woods we drove into the village of Ditchling, and followed their open houses art trail. Various stuff there, including hand made furniture,  glass garden sculpture, paintings, photography and more. L and I bought a little print by Rosemary Pavey, who gave us elderflower cordial as we entered her studio. It is of a few white cows in a field by Chanctonbury Hill and to me looks like an illustration from a telling a legend. One of the open houses was owned by the highly ill...

Another poor night's sleep which at least meant that I was able to wake Lorraine up when she was having a nightmare that Beth's ex-boyfriend Mark had turned into a cannibal. Mum up rested and bright as a button. In contrast I felt somewhat jaded. A quorn sausage sandwich helped a good deal however. The weather hideously cold and rainy. Took mum to visit St Bartholomew's church which she liked, then into the North Laine and into a second hand bookshop, where I found a book on Imagination by Mary Warnock, and into Snooper's Paradise. We thought this is a kind of museum of household bric-a-brac. Then to the Giggling Squid, forking down some lovely thai food in a leisurely way. We popped into see The Blue Route by Finnish artist Kaarina Kaikkonen, which was actually extremely impressive and strangely sea-like for a huge sculpture made from shirts. This made sense of the fact that the clock tower had been clothed in shirts for the last few weeks. Then into a bead shop...

A poor night's sleep. Scooting about this morning doing some work before accosting Mum at Brighton station. Straight to the sea, which we found to be greenish with a bruised banks of cloud raining in the distance.  Mum drawn right away to the kippers in a roll at Jack and Linda Mills place on the seafront. Lovely people and Jack was wearing a Guernsey jumper and so we chatted about this and he came outside to chat with us as we ate outside. He told us about fishing here just after the war, and how the sea was full of fish because of how the sea had been mined to defend it. Then a cold walk around the pier, the flags stiff in the breeze. A good deal of talking to be done, which we did as we walked around the pier watching the skeletons etc. loom out of their smoking windows at the top of the horror hotel ride. Then inland to The Mock Turtle for tea and cake. Enjoying all the willow pattern plates on the wall, and the tables on the sides groaning with cakes. Next to the Museu...

Far more peppy and managed a full and productive day's work.  Lorraine working at home this afternoon too which was lovely, to my surprise she got me a hardback copy of W.B. Yeats's poems which I had once treasured but lent to someone who never returned it. A really lovely thing to do. I also had an Amazon delivery today of a volume of Classical Literary Criticism, which I was consulting for the thing I am writing, and a documentary about Bob Marley. Pushed on with the book, finally working out my approach to the subject of 'wonder'. L and I had a nice walk to the walled garden, past the big top where the circus is pitched with various musics drifting out. After admiring the plants and having a late wander, we were pleasantly ushered out by a park keeper as the garden should already have been closed, leaving the black tulips and bleeding hearts to the late slanting sun. Then to the climbing rock garden across the road, which has been somewhat redesigned although sadly...

Brain functioning a little better this morning and was able to focus well on work for a few hours. Also secured some more freelance work in a couple of weeks too, which is handy. Otherwise another nice note from Helen in Germany. More listening to the compelling  Vernon God Little , and reading Sleights of Mind -- what the neuroscience of magic reveals about our brains  which I am reading as research. Nice phone chats with Bob and Matt. A walk around the park for lunch, but still feeling light headed. Black tulips among other flowers in the walled garden. Another quiet day. Rather keen on a noisy one soon.

Still sluggish, and my brain had all the incisiveness of a block of soft butter. Little written, listening instead to Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre, which is bleakly funny as the 15 year old protagonist makes one disastrous decision after another. Delighted to receive an email from Helen in Biberach in Germany, who I learned was translating Root and Branch into German for a party who had attended the liberation day service from Biberach. It was only by googling did I learn that there had been a prison camp there where Channel Islanders were billeted held during WW2. I need to learn more about this. Lorraine on one of her fasting days, and off singing with the choir this evening. I had a bit of a Frazier fest. Reading a bit of Rilke from the Duino Elegies aloud to Lorraine in bed tonight.  She likes me reading things to her as it sends her into an untroubled sleep, however deathless the poetry.

Steadily feeling livelier, although a trip to the shops and a few chores at home still enough to be tiring. An enjoyable day with Lorraine doing embroidery and continuing to cook delicious rib sticking comfort foods: turkey and mushroom pie, rhubarb crumble, and a roast dinner. The knowledge that Lorraine is looking after me, makes me feel very lucky. I fiddled with aquariums, watched football (Chelsea triumphant) and happily read articles about how the conservative party is self destructing over the issue of Europe all over again. I'm impatient to get on with work now and deriving pleasure from simple things like shopping. Happy with life.

Despite post-anaesthetic trippiness, I was determined to see a production of No Exit (Huis Clos) by John-Paul Sartre  at the New Venture Theatre. Lorraine and I bussed there, a woman getting off the bus pressing her day pass ticket into my hand as I boarded. Simon played the demonic Valet who introduced three antagonistic characters into the room where they have to endure each other for the rest of eternity where 'hell is other people'. Despite studying Sartre at university, I'd never seen a production of this play. It is a splendid idea for a theatre piece, although after I wondered how Becket would have handled it -- a good deal shorter I would have thought. Simon charismatic as the Valet and Emmie Spencer's Inez the postal worker was excellent. Lorraine and I hoofed it for a bus, home slightly spinny headed and was grateful for the sofa.

A day of recovery. Impatient to be springing about tiggerishly, except I kept needing sleep. Throat extremely sore but I am feeling happy, optimistic and relieved. Watching Fraziers and a moderately good movie Quartet . Lorraine looking after me. All good.

Up early to arrive at Victoria Hospital in Lewes for 7:30 to have an internal camera investigation of my bladder and prostate, and a prostatic massage -- i.e. send things up my penis and rectum like the worst kind of alien abduction. Beautiful green drive, the dew steaming in the morning sun helping me avoid picturing the day's events. Before we set off I had a word with myself, and imagined seeing a tiny me in a black and white picture taken from an aircraft, just one thing in a billion things going on this morning. Curiously this really helped. Even better, Lorraine had taken a day's compassionate leave to come with me. She was in the best possible way a walking tranqilliser, and made me feel safe. Plus the hospital was clean, the staff were, to a person, calm, friendly and efficient. And at no point did I seriously think that my operation would end up on YouTube. I couldn't help thinking of our friend John was to have a cataract operation yesterday, but was sent ho...

Finding it hard to concentrate today. Brooding hypochondriacally on the procedure tomorrow didn't help. Also a man came to discuss gutters, in a disappointingly non-guttural accent.  I got had couple of hours agency work on eye vitamins. Managed to lope off to the gym too, which helped to reduce the twitchiness. Spoke to First Matie, whose day of poorliness meant I had the couple of hours work, and Sophie who is off to Andros' Godmother's funeral in Cyprus. When my lovely Lorraine got home, we watched the brave and noble Chelsea ride their luck to win the Europa cup. To bed early.

Up early and tidying up the house in a two hour frenzy before the photographer arrived. The house photographer seemed quite professional. I pestered him with questions to understand some of the tricks of his trade, saturating the shots and taking many of the same scene at different exposures to overlay them. Camera height is important too, low for gardens, high for kitchens. Pulling out one chair invitingly from a table. He also left me with a good story about the son of a famous photographer who discovered that his recently deceased father had loads of property. The photographer was hired to photograph the properties and accompany the son going happily about town gloating over the huge fortune he had suddenly come into. The son went into the final property and after some time emerged white faced, saying he needed to see his solicitor. The final flat had contained a Thai lady the father had married two weeks before his death. This all somewhat disruptive to my work schedule though,...

Fragmentary day. Monday and back to work on the book trying to define the concept of wonder, and have gradually reached a reasonable definition; also chasing a freelance payment. I drifted off to the gym for another mild mannered workout. Curiously it is only while exercising do I get consciously nervous about going into hospital this Thursday at other times I seem to have it in a good perspective. I struggle with not being in control, but there are times when you just have to surrender to their alien abduction. Chatted to Mum who is coming down to Brighton for a day next week. Then did some more bits about the house in preparation for the photographer's visit, and cooking starvation rations for Lorraine this evening. L watching Swedes be beastly to each other this evening, followed by something set in Nor'n Ireland with Gillian Anderson and a sexmurderer in it. Puts me in mind of the Neue Sachlichkeit sex murderer paintings such as this one by Heinrich Maria Davringhausen...

Brighton binmen are striking, so we scabbed off to the dump with some of broken things and recycling. There Lorraine suddenly got a volcanic road rage when her parking space was stolen. Soothingly to the garden centre to get plants and catfood. Home after shopping, and I gave the stair carpet a kind of hair cut of the trailing threads dangling from the worn bits with scissors, and spoke to the lovely First Matie on the phone. To Steyning to visit Dawn in her new flat whose living room has lovely views of the Downs and treetops. It is so nice to be able to see rain pouring down on the hills from the sofa, and I watched two wood pigeons bumping nasties on a stump with a kind of David Attenborough enjoyment. We had planned a quick walk around the village and surrounding countryside but the weather had turned vile again. Instead we assembled a dining table and talked for hours and ate roast chicken and helpings of yummy veg and roasties, plus the rhubarb crumble that Lorraine had...