Mute button More work on newsletters today. Then, to make sure I would be paid, sent the dozen or so meticulous and tiresome emails needed to get my hours on their system. Helping freelancers get paid is never a priority. After work I hobbled off briskly enough for a much-needed haircut, as it was becoming lobetastic. When they cut it short and spray it with water you can see my scalp these days. Got the paunchy barber who has to be one up. So when he asked me if I was going on holiday, and I said yes to Canada, he looked momentarily panicked. Mosquitoes , he said plucking inspiration from the air. Yes they have them, I said. When I get bitten I swell up, last time I was in Spain... etc. He also gave me his opinions on the Gay Pride march this weekend, which were of the I have loads of gay mates but... variety. They need to invent mute buttons for hairdressers. The symbol on the button would be of a pair of giant scissors poised around the neck of the hairdresser. Began reading The
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A spell in the cinema Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince tonight with Lorraine, Sam and Beth. Used the Orange Wednesday business, where you text film to a number on your mobile phone and get a twofer deal. I enjoyed the film, its mise en scène, settings and general bits of magic. Plot all over the place however, and relies on you having read it, to work out its significance. Having not read this book, I was left rather untouched by 'the unhappy event' (as Kermode and Mayo call it) at the end. Also bits such as where the Weasley's house is set on fire were not given time to sink in emotionally. The house is on fire, they stare at it bleakly for one or two seconds, and that's it: never referred to again. Still, it was great escapism. My admiration for JKR undiminished. Lorraine and Beth enjoyed it, and Sam thought that only two things happened, and it took two and a half hours to get there. Lorraine gave me a lift home, only after I gave her the BSG DVDs. Otherwise,
Cheered up Less histrionic today. Decided to stop moaning. And good things started happening right away: A lovely note from First Matie who was very nice about Skelton Yawngrave Got a small cheque from my big pharma client, paying the last of what they owe me for the vast website of many ailments A hot knife through butter day on the arthritis campaign. The end is in sight Plus I can now hobble at near walking speed. Took advantage of this to go to post office, supermarket and the Patisserie, where I was flirted with. In the evening even had some energy to make some tweaks to Skelton Yawngrave based on the feedback I've had so far from Romy, Joan, Katie, Lorraine and Anton. Some instant improvements. It's so great when you can use other people's eyes to spot the bits that don't quite work. Saves loads of time. Also shaved beard off as old testament prophet is not great on me.
Purgatorio Waking in the morning drenched in sweat and as enervated as a Johnny Keats in Rome reaching for his last kleenex. How thoughtful of the freaking Gods to ensure that while skewered by various undiagnosed gyps, and at the end of my spiritual, physical and mental tether, I have to spend seven or eight hours a day researching and writing about chronic, agonising medical conditions. A brief escape like the liquid song of a nightingale in a forest, a dryad among the trees, came when I was able to write about gardening with arthritis, and implements with long handles. But this passed. Outside the shades of Dante and Virgil wandered down the Twitten discussing my punishment, but I do not know the sin I am paying for. Unmanacled, I can only slump and watch Frasier DVDs. Those Crane boys stand between me and the abyss. Spoke to Mum and Lorraine and Bob. Lorraine had her head magnetically resonated at hospital this morning, but seemed cheerful. Below Dante and Virgil sightseeing in Pur
Hidden Zimmers Slightly better today. And with a little help from Lorraine, several drugs and a few episodes of Frasier managed to perk up somewhat. Today's big challenge was to walk down to Sainsbury's. Hobbling gives you a different perspective on the world. Uneven pavements are to be eyed with distrust and, in the supermarket, trolleys with wheels are a boon as they double as covert Zimmer Frames. If nothing else, this episode has increased my empathy for older folks. In the evening off by taxi to Cath's house to celebrate her 40th birthday. Enjoyable dinner party. Much moreish food with a Moorish twist, pleasant guests too, including Cath's twin younger brothers, one of whom had spent the morning exhaustingly swinging through treetops on a Go Ape! session with many children. I spent the evening well behaved, eating lentils and having one or two quiet wines, and plenty of water. Lorraine told a hospital story which included a sister called Di Bleak. Struck by the fa
More moaning than you can shake a stick at Friday night. Despite rattling with painkillers, my head is thumping. Lorraine is at her house with her girly mates. Time, therefore, for a moan. Traditionally Summer is the season for things to be obnoxious, so a week of summer suck was overdue. So to the quack this morning. Shambled with my hiking stick, being given a wide berth in the street. Took me three times as long to walk there as usual. Turns out the ankle business which has kept me skewered by increasingly insufferable pain for the last three days and nights may be gout. Separated at birth: me and sodding Henry VIII. It is so painful that it keeps me awake, and also too painful to sit on a normal chair. And if the gout business didn't suck enough, my blood pressure was a bit high again. The nice locum has organised a shed load of tests for me next week. If I freakishly manage to live that long. Back home to discover the client thinks my copy (designed to reassure people about a
Hobbled What happened? Two weeks ago I was in robust health, going to the gym three times a week. Today I wake in pain due to the return of the mysterious orc foot, which has seized-up my ankle to makes walking slow and painful. Loped only as far as Boots to by some gel to free up my incredibly ulcerated mouth enough to eat. I am an utter wreck. I hate it. However made some good progress on the rheumatoid arthritis writing during the day. After I finished this I simply hobbled the few yards to the Battle of Trafalgar where I met First Matie and her pal Nick. We three had a nice chat, sitting in the garden in the spotting rain for an hour before Kate returned to the smoke. Nick is an interesting guy, a singer songwriter by nature, who was telling us about the frustratingly laid back approach of certain young Brighton musicians. Turns out Nick is a Cylon-loving BSG head too. Unable to face standing around in my kitchen, I loped to the Chinese takeaway and spent the evening trembling till
Mustn't grumble (coz it hurts) Slowly driving myself insane writing about arthritis. Meanwhile on a Pooterish note I had a sore gum, and so slooshed some Oraldene to sort it out. Instead, my mouth suddenly grew dry and prunelike after just three slooshes. I now have (with no exaggeration) at least 12 mouth ulcers, and can hardly speak. When Lorraine popped in to retrieve her phone charger. I had to press my forehead on her instead of kissing her. She told me she has trafficked Skelton Yawngrave to a child named Harriet, so I am greatly looking forward to getting her feedback. Soon I will make the changes (my feedback from Romy and Joan has pointed to the same issue that needs fixing) and onto the next stage. Lorraine also said she needs to stop watching Battlestar Galactica last thing at night because it is giving her nightmares. Mum told me she and Mason have coughs and are unwell in a swine-like way. As for me, while somewhat recovered, I'm bored (a rare thing for me) and ex
Message in a bottle Arthritis work again today. Paused only to go to the Orange shop to replace the charger for my phone. Calliope had chewed through the last one - 17 and a half quid that weasel cost me. Felt brighter this morning than I had for a long time, obviously this tempting fate as the throat began to re-emerge as the day wore on. Attendant readers will remember that when in Guernsey a couple of trips ago I found a book of poems published in the 80s by a French poet called Renee Monamy which I rather liked. There was an address in the back of the book, and I wrote to her at it. It seemed to me like a message in a bottle. Well, I got a note from Renee last night, who had found me on the Internet. She did not get my card, however. Instead she stumbled across her name in this blog. The Internet is an amazing thing. A long and enjoyable chat this afternoon with Karen, who I worked with a little in my old IBM days, who was put in touch with me by Brian as she needs a writer. But ju
Minnie the Poocher To Westhill Hall, which is a little community hall tucked away behind some flats about five minutes walk away. My neighbour Mark Bassey was doing a gig organised by his dog-adoring partner Hilary in aid of Canine Partners . It was a pleasant night sipping from warm tins of beer watching Mark, and an excellent pianist, drummer and bassist combo on a little curtained stage. Little stages always remind me of David Lynch these days, and the jazz and dogs comination was rather Twin Peaks. Mark was a very likable stage presence. And in his last trombone solo, one of the dogs joined in and they had a brief, but memorable duet. And the dogs even had their own raffle with things like pull toy prizes. Lorraine and I sat with Gary and Alex, two denizens of the Twitten. Gary talking enthusiastically to me on the way home about British Jazz in the 50s and 60s, and was rather impressed when I said Mum had worked in Ronnie Scott's as a stripling. He wasn't much one for roc
A little bit of a swine Still sluggish. Beginning to wonder if I have had "the swine" in a mild way over the last week or so. Certainly the bouts of coughing, temperature, sore throat, headache and exhaustion seem to fit the bill. But then I am a fantastic hypochondriac. Lots of people I know have had similar symptoms - including Toby, Mum and Lorraine. I reckon this bug is rampaging through the country now, and the official reporting of it is lagging way behind. If it is the swine flu, then this is good fortune to get it in such a mild way. I'm feeling a little brighter, enough to phone my client (who had a "terrible cold") to explain that I'd not made as much progress on the rheumatoid arthritis work as I would have hoped for. Lorraine and I went for our usual Friday night curry. The amount of fawning Lorraine gets in there is unbelievable. Not only does she hugged and kissed, she get served special baltis, and we were introduced to the owner Ash's gir
Pasties for lunch Listening to Philip Pullman on the radio this morning railing against the new requirement for authors visiting schools to be vetted, so as to prove their safety to work with children. "Why should I pay £64 to a government agency to give me a little certificate to say I'm not a paedophile. Children are abused in the home, not in classes of 30 or groups of 200 in the assembly hall with teachers looking on." He has a point. On with the rheumatoid arthritis copy today. Toby packing this morning. Anton popped around at lunchtime to see the Tobster before he went, and we three ate Cornish pasties. Anton had brought with him the version of Skelton Yawngrave he'd printed out in duplex and bound with string. Having started to read it, he got me to sign his "first edition" saying that it would be worth a fortune one day. I certainly hope so. Toby off to the airport, and I returned to the RA work. He called some hours later after his plane was delaye
The manacles slacken Still feeling sluggish, but soon working on the rheumatoid arthritis copy till lunchtime, when there was a surprise manifestation of Bob, who'd been working in Brighton. He popped into have a quick lunchtime cuppa, and rave about unspeakable work politics. He said with some feeling that he'd much rather be writing about rheumatoid arthritis, which was probably a good thing to hear. The Tobster appeared mid afternoon, staying overnight before flying home tomorrow. After I'd slipped out of the copy irons, Toby and I hung out chatting till Lorraine came around and we three walked into Brighton for a cheeky farewell beer in a pub called The Victory, and then went for assorted tapas in Casa Don Carlos discussing a trip to Canada. We lurched home to watch an episode of BSG and sip purifying sparkling mineral water with a squeeze of lemon. Must find out why there are so many pubs relating to Nelson in Brighton. There is the Battle of Trafalgar, which is my nea
Doing it on purrpose Blearily waking to a sinister item on Radio 4 about how cats exploit humans by purring based on some research led by Dr Karen McComb at the nearby University of Sussex. Calliope was at that very moment purring impatiently in my face. Apparently when there is just one person and one cat living together the emotional blackmail is more intense. Manacled to my desk reading about rheumatoid arthritis and related ailments, my task is to humanise this into thirty something newsletter pages on the subject. I suppose moving from writing about the Skelton Yawngrave to writing about RA is not a big step. Spoke to Mum this evening who has now read Skelton and she liked it, which was pleasing. Lorraine has arranged for an actual tame child to read it next week. Heard from Catriona in Guernsey this morning, who has sent out a note of introduction to some Guernsey worthies. The BBC there says it will do an interview with me next time I wash up on the Gem of the Sea, which will b
Scene of the crime Someone clattering down the Twitten, and from a few streets away someone-else shouting for help at 2:30am. I opened my window but could see nothing. I thought I was going to vomit, at which point Calliope hastily left the room, but eventually I drifted back to sleep. When I left home this morning, there was a patch of blood on the white wall opposite my house. Having felt rough and slightly feverish yesterday, a little better today. Travelled up to the smoke and a briefing at the dark place which is my old agency. Wore my mithril shirt and my pockets bulged with trinkets against the evil eye. Took a briefing about rheumatoid arthritis, and was told to get cracking. All well. Had a cheeky half hour with Matty at lunch time, who was on find form and looking well and handsome. Also spoke to First Matie on the phone. Saw lots of familiar faces in the agency, and had quick chats with a dozen people. But more than happy to be working from home on it. Back to Brighton and t
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
Virtual roses I have bought anthologyofguernsey.com and today I started assembling it. Was invited to an event in Guernsey next week, as another of my poems has been chosen to go on the bus. I can't really attend. However there will be a poster of my poem, which I wouldn't mind having. Lovely note from Joan with some virtual congratulatory roses, and not just any roses they were Lilian Austen Roses. She's sent some useful feedback on Skelton. Romy said she has just started it, and it is making her laugh. Meanwhile Lorraine has given me back her copy, which has been "marked". She is positive about it too. Needless to say, I am relieved that people are liking it. You can lose perspective after so long, and start to imagine pelting down the Twitten with an axe. Gym again today. Lorraine came by this evening, and I cooked a chicken and then I made her watch Battlestar Galactica. Luckily Lorraine is one of those rare ladies with a genuine enthusiasm for Science Fiction
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
Frak! Woken by South London gangsters pelting down the Twitten with police in pursuit, wheezing directions into their walkie talkies at 4:30am. What a way to earn a living. Wasted lots of time faffing about. Did a mindmap of things which helped a bit. Went to the gym for a session of the Hulk legs machine, and uphill loping on the treadmill. I am enjoying it, and look forward to going to the gym. My God, what is happening to me? Lorraine has almost finished Skelton Yawngrave and is providing lots of good feedback. She's a gem. A cheery interlude this afternoon, when Anna came around for a cup of tea and to show Klaudia and Oskar my fish. Oskar particularly fancying my gold sucking loach, and pressing his nose against the glass. Zombied out this evening watching DVDs of Battlestar Galactica . This is the series made in 2004, and frak me it's good. Having chewed through my phone recharger wire, necessitating a wire wiggling nightmare just to half recharge my phone, Calliope has
Song of the farmers Unspleeping in the airnest, so up early to work before everyone got up. Salty the cat biting me as I typed. After breakfast we all watched the end of the Seven Samurai. At the end of the film, having lost four of their number in the battle, the Samurai wander off as the ungrateful farmers sing lustily while planting rice. "Another defeat," says one grimly. Splendidly miserablist. Nice to hang out with everyone in sunny Edgware. Later Toby took the train with me as far as St Pancras (aka St Pancreas by almost everyone), then I listened to an In Our Time podcast about of early Islam and the schism between Shia and Sunny on the way back to Brighton. The history of religion is just a filthy power struggle. A dapper Nick Cave in the same carriage. Resisted the temptation to intrude on his personal space, just as he - somehow - managed to resist the temptation to intrude on mine. Much needed sleep on my gold sofa despite Calliope persistently kneading me. Th
Samurai and Scooby snacks Up with the sparrows, and after making Lorraine a nice cup of tea, felt really odd not to be writing the novel. Nice note from Joan, who has agreed to look at Skelton, and she sent a picture of an imperious looking Lucky Jim. Also wrote to Catriona who told me she was celebrating her 60th birthday this weekend. She is very glamourous. 60 is the new 40 I think. I'm sure that opinion will be even firmer when it's my turn. Lorraine cooked us some yummy bacon and egg sandwiches, then I rushed off to the station and caught my train to London by the skin of my teeth. A complicated journey due to track works. The tube was hot and sweaty, only enlivened by a pair of glamorous transvestites, one with an enormous pink beehive in the carriage. It was a Gay Pride march today in London. Mas picked me up at Mill Hill. As we arrived at home, local man who has some sort of mental disability, who has frequent conversations with Mas about cars, wandered over and obsessi
Push! Push! The last lap. Pleased I only had a restrained night with Anton, up early and worked on the novel till 5:07pm. One last push and the first showable draft of the novel was done. A huge – if solitary - moment like a cat giving birth in a wardrobe. Now there is the ghastly business of asking friends and relatives to read it. This is even more ghastly for the victims, however. For there is the possibility that the thing I have been working on for about 16months is terrible. What can they possibly say? Absolutely anything, is the answer, for I long ago understood that what I make and who I am are different things. During the day Sam had called around as on Fridays you are allowed to take a new person in to the gym for a free session. He threw himself into the running machine, and hulk legs machine next to me with great gusto. And it was my third time this week, so I was fairly pleased with myself. Sam is a good runner, and afterwards he thought that he would only end up runnin
AntiCupid So close to finishing Skelton Yawngrave draft. But still finding dead wood. Pruning is a good (if hackneyed) metaphor for editing. It can seem brutal at the time, but after a damn good edit you end up with a text that is denser, shapelier, and flowers better. Reading that Sol Stein book On Writing, has changed my life. Broke off to go to the gym. Feels good. Have been using the heart rate monitor on the treadmill to ensure I am in the optimum zone for my cardio work. The formula is 220 minus your age. So if you are a gentleman of 49 this equals 171. This is your absolute maximum 100% heart rate. Ideally to burn fat and get fit without dying, I have learned you need to exercise between 65%-80% of that, so for me anything something roughly around 125-135 bpm is optimal. As you can tell, this gym business is still a novelty. Called Anton and had a welcome cold lager and long chat with him in the Eddy tonight. We'd not done that for a while. A cold beer on a hot night is
Empty Fourth draft of Skelton Yawngrave done today. Just one last read through, and a couple of last tweaks over the next day or so, then I can stop and farm it out to anybody I can bribe to read it for feedback. Thank God. It has been a slog. But hopefully a worthwhile one. Only time will tell. It's a psychological thing, but the story has left me feeling completely emptied out. Now I need to get back out into the world, having slogged for months on this thing. After work down to the sea and along the seafront to Hove walking into the low sun. There was so much smoke from miniature barbecues along the beach that it created a misty haze, in which silhouettes of people looked magical. But curses! No camera. A rendezvous with Lorraine for a short walk, and to blare at her on the pebbles by the sea at high tide. Then she dropped me back home. Feeling headachey and brain dead. Heard from Carl today and Mindy again, and spoke to Mum. Otherwise quiet. Went to the gym again yesterday, it