Cutting off the dead wood
Up early, and working on some poems. Strange how suddenly you can see the wood for the trees, and I have regained the correct brutality with my poems, cutting out dead wood, and discarding the redundant with a ruthless sneer. This helped by Lorraine, who was able to deflect the attentions of the kitten, which gave me a couple of hours of undivided focus, and she made tea and kippers too, which is brain food as any fule no.
Lorraine and I went off to meet First Matie for a drink and Sunday lunch. Katie looking all spiffy since giving up the cigarettes a couple of months ago. We were also met by her nice pal Nick, who lives in Brighton. He is going into the studio next week to record some of his melancholy singer songwriter material with a cello player. We met up in the Quadrant, and Beth and Mark, whose 17 birthday it was yesterday, joined us for some soft drinks. Then off to the Hop Poles for a Sunday lunch. Piles of fresh vegetables, and roast chicken. A perfect thing to do on a wet Autumn day. There we were joined by Graeme, who'd been busy in a futile searching for bed linen and we all sat about telling some feeble jokes for a bit before going our separate ways.
Spoke to the Tobster in the evening, and lay low watching Match of the Day and Chelsea putting upstarts Aston Villa to the sword, while being domestically abused and stalked by the rampaging kitten.
Up early, and working on some poems. Strange how suddenly you can see the wood for the trees, and I have regained the correct brutality with my poems, cutting out dead wood, and discarding the redundant with a ruthless sneer. This helped by Lorraine, who was able to deflect the attentions of the kitten, which gave me a couple of hours of undivided focus, and she made tea and kippers too, which is brain food as any fule no.
Lorraine and I went off to meet First Matie for a drink and Sunday lunch. Katie looking all spiffy since giving up the cigarettes a couple of months ago. We were also met by her nice pal Nick, who lives in Brighton. He is going into the studio next week to record some of his melancholy singer songwriter material with a cello player. We met up in the Quadrant, and Beth and Mark, whose 17 birthday it was yesterday, joined us for some soft drinks. Then off to the Hop Poles for a Sunday lunch. Piles of fresh vegetables, and roast chicken. A perfect thing to do on a wet Autumn day. There we were joined by Graeme, who'd been busy in a futile searching for bed linen and we all sat about telling some feeble jokes for a bit before going our separate ways.
Spoke to the Tobster in the evening, and lay low watching Match of the Day and Chelsea putting upstarts Aston Villa to the sword, while being domestically abused and stalked by the rampaging kitten.
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