The back abates
For the first day in ages, a cracking day on my skeleton story. Also a few tweaks to The Moth Display, which is in the final flap. Then a swim. Feeling better than I have done for a while thanks to my recent massage. My back is not hurting all the time, which means I can sleep too. Yippee. Deep tissue massage rocks.
Up to London in the evening. Spoke to Mum on the train. She had just returned home after starting her chemotherapy. She was feeling a little sleepy when I spoke to her, but she said that the nursing staff couldn't have been better, and it wasn't too bad so far.
Also re-reading an old anthology called New Blood on the train. Rather than dipping into magazines, I'm forcing myself to be more methodical about catching up with anyone who is anyone in the last ten years in poetry. As I did so, an inky stain on my damp manbag printed itself neatly onto my brand new trousers.
Pouring steadily in London, as befits a British June. I set off to Goodge Steet to meet my old Dell posse. The tube claustrophobic, so I got off to walk the last stop. We had broken with tradition by meeting in a different pub, The One Tun, and going to a different restaurant, a Spanish one. Much catching up to be done with Ash, Phil, Arno, Paula, Marcella and James over tapas and wine. I'd not seen Paula for ages - and this year seems particularly grim for her and Pete. Losing her mother is just part of it.
On happier notes, however, young James was showing us his wedding photos, Arno mentioned dark horsishly that he'd married secretly, and Marcella is looking incredibly slim and cheery in preparation for her wedding in November. And I enjoyed seeing photos of Phil's new allotment, claimed back from the wilderness in two days and now crammed full of wondrous vegetable delights and small but interested Muntjac deer.
Lots of fond farewells, then for me a brisk zoom back to Brighton.
For the first day in ages, a cracking day on my skeleton story. Also a few tweaks to The Moth Display, which is in the final flap. Then a swim. Feeling better than I have done for a while thanks to my recent massage. My back is not hurting all the time, which means I can sleep too. Yippee. Deep tissue massage rocks.
Up to London in the evening. Spoke to Mum on the train. She had just returned home after starting her chemotherapy. She was feeling a little sleepy when I spoke to her, but she said that the nursing staff couldn't have been better, and it wasn't too bad so far.
Also re-reading an old anthology called New Blood on the train. Rather than dipping into magazines, I'm forcing myself to be more methodical about catching up with anyone who is anyone in the last ten years in poetry. As I did so, an inky stain on my damp manbag printed itself neatly onto my brand new trousers.
Pouring steadily in London, as befits a British June. I set off to Goodge Steet to meet my old Dell posse. The tube claustrophobic, so I got off to walk the last stop. We had broken with tradition by meeting in a different pub, The One Tun, and going to a different restaurant, a Spanish one. Much catching up to be done with Ash, Phil, Arno, Paula, Marcella and James over tapas and wine. I'd not seen Paula for ages - and this year seems particularly grim for her and Pete. Losing her mother is just part of it.
On happier notes, however, young James was showing us his wedding photos, Arno mentioned dark horsishly that he'd married secretly, and Marcella is looking incredibly slim and cheery in preparation for her wedding in November. And I enjoyed seeing photos of Phil's new allotment, claimed back from the wilderness in two days and now crammed full of wondrous vegetable delights and small but interested Muntjac deer.
Lots of fond farewells, then for me a brisk zoom back to Brighton.
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