under another sun

This concert will fall in love with you I wrote a strange pamphlet during a full moon a year and a half ago, called This book will fall in love with you . I sent this along with some other poems to Matthew Pollard (a good friend of Lorraine's) who is a composer and conductor. Turns out he wants to set some of this to music, and give it a few performance in the Brighton Fringe Festival next spring. We met in The Basketmakers this evening to discuss the project, and after an hour or so were joined by Lorraine. I'm very excited by the prospect of performing again, and this time with wonderful new music. These conversations conducted amid Halloween revelries. This being Brighton, at least a third of the people you saw wandering about on the street or in the pub were dressed as ashen faced zombies, mummies, or had weapons protruding from skulls, or there were those who were just liberally splashed with fake blood. Only one person really caught my attention, before it was dark even.

Windbaggery The best part of this week is that I have made a new friend in the form of Sean the art director. He is a very funny guy and we have been setting each other off during the week. However having got everyone happy with the neuropathic pain work by the morning, it was all, rather comically, blown out of the water by the new creative director last thing in the afternoon. Sean and I, however, have been asked back for next week to continue working on it. This at least means a few more doubloons in the Kenny coffers. Home at eightish, and took myself to the pub to wait for Lorraine. Had a slow pint reading my recently purchased copy of the first edition of Lyrical Ballads by Wordsworth and Coleridge. I wanted to discover any thinking that Richard and I can use. But Ancient Mariner aside, its poems really are tripe and onions. While I can appreciate his historical importance, The Prelude aside, I have always found Wordsworth to be a tiresome windbag. Very tired this evening too,

Dive bomber A poor night's sleep. Lorraine stayed overnight, and Calliope persisted in her new habit of dive bombing her. The cat leaps unexpectedly from the window sill or the headboard onto Lorraine's ribs while she is asleep. Lorraine increasingly cross. Up to London. Reading Mervyn Peake on the train in the morning, and then simply looking out of the window Listening to minimal music. An arduous day, but okay. Worked through lunch and a little late with Sean, and had a few pleasant conversations with old colleagues. Home to fish and chips. Looking forward to the end of the week and getting started on PK stuff again for a week. Below crow and river bed.

River vultures Back up to Glamoursmith. Feeling oddly optimistic, despite the day being potentially a tricky one. But the work we are doing on neuropathic pain progressed quite well. I enjoyed talking to Sean who is a funny guy, and it turns out is working on a sitcom with his usual writing partner. Initial booking was for two weeks, but it seems like it is just one now, with a possible second week in a weeks' time. This works out well for me however, as it means I can get on with the Anthology. A short lunchtime mooch by the river. Even more cormorants today, gathering like river vultures. As I walked spoke to Lorraine and an uncharacteristically gloomy Betsy, who is working on an arduous and unrewarding job from home. Finished Goodbye to all that today. Well worth a read if you are interested in WW1 or writers. Due to computer still being in limbo till new software arrives next week, I am have been unable to download any more books, so instead I am listening to a podcast about a

Old paths Off again to the smoke. Calliope yowling at me from the Twitten. Dragging myself unwillingly towards Glamoursmith, familiar walk through the graveyard. I'm getting on fine with Sean, although it is an odd situation. Being thrown together with someone you've never met, and tasked with coming up with lots of great ideas. But also quite fun too. I'm finding it tricky however being back in my old agency. Falling into familiar patterns, such as walking along the river path at lunchtime. I talked to Pat who was in Dundee for a football match, while I was looking at cormorants sunning themselves like little devils on the piles in the river. Homeward train listening to the Robert Graves Goodbye to all that . Horribly fascinating, going from most of the book about the trenches, to postwar records of conversations with people like Sassoon, T.E. Lawrence, and even Thomas Hardy. Home and no nonsense business such as changing the water in the fishtank, with the cat paying gre

Not such a pain Up to London to work at my old agency. My adage of ending well, standing me in good stead here. And I find myself doing some concepting work on neuropathic pain, which is pain without an obvious cause. Working with a freelance art director called Sean who lives in Birmingham. Quite a bit of snickering over concepts, and we got on pretty well. A pleasant enough day. Bumped briefly into Matty boy, worked through lunch with Sean. Feeling excited about the prospect of my poems being set to music by Matt the composer. Be fascinated to see how this new project pans out. Couldn't wait to get home, however. Listening to Robert Graves Goodbye to all that on the train, about his experiences in the trenches: a first hand account of how unbelievably stupid and badly organised the whole business was. Home to a clingy Calliope who after much purring and so on, went into bad behavior mode, crawling into all the bad places such as the cupboard under the aquarium, and doing all

A sunny Sunday A day without inflicting more boozes on the shrivelled raisins of my kidneys. Instead, Lorraine and I mooched about looking at embroidery thread, and books. I bought Wordsworth and Coleridge's Lyrical Ballads to see if there were any tips I can pick up for my project with Richard in Guernsey, as well as shorter fictions by Mervyn Peake called a Boy in Darkness and other stories with an introduction by Sebastian Peake. Had a nice time lurking about by the sea, drinking a coffee people watching in the sun, flags horizontal in the strong wind. Home and I cooked and Lorraine got busy on a weaving contraption, which caused her to swear somewhat and be very quiet. Emails today... From Jane and from Richard, who is going to publicise the Anthology of Guernsey site tomorrow. And also a note from Matt suggesting we meet up to discuss a music and poetry project next week. All jolly good. Ended the day by watching Manchester United get beaten on Match of the Day. I thoughtful

Matty in the Batty, then ratty A rainy an uninviting day. Went to Sainsbury's early, and returned to cook breakfast for myself and Lorraine. Matty called to say he was coming down to Brighton, and then to say he was in the Battle of Trafalgar. Met up with him, First Matie, Tash and her relatively new boyf Steve, and two friends of Matt called Matt and Jenny. Ended up having yet another rather boozy afternoon. After everyone had left to go to a party, Lorraine and I were possessed of the idea of having a curry, failing to persuade First Matie to join us, we grabbed a taxi. Nice meal, but I banged my head on the ceiling of the toilets in our usual restaurant. This was followed about ten minutes later by an undignified altercation in the street after a man walked into me for absolutely no reason. I invited him to fuck off, and was told to pack it by some bouncers outside a nightclub. Thus chastised Lorraine and I managed to make it home with no further adventures, and instead watche

Cometh the hour, cometh the Manvinder Decided to try to maintain equilibrium today. Did what work I could on my laptop, and in the afternoon Sam came by and tried a few fixes on my computer. He zips between windows and makes lightening fast decisions on things, incredibly quickly. Had a nice chat in between various strategies. I ended up calling the Dell software helpline and actually got a rather efficient and helpful guy called Manvinder, who has reinstalled vista. I have decided to upgrade to Microsoft Windows 7, which supersedes the universally despised Vista. I noticed today on the Dell website that there were downgrades available - to change your Vista back to XP (the preceding system, which shows just how much it sucked). Meanwhile, Manvinder rather amazed when I asked him if he were Sikh. Always seems to surprise the helpline guys in India when you know anything about their country. And on an even more positive note, I've got another call from my old agency to do some wor

Infernal day Hellish day spent trying to fix computer. Good news is that I have harvested all files, photos, tunes etc. from it. I also have an old trusty laptop. Bad news is that after 5 'helpline' conversations and reloading Vista (so inferior to XP it's not even funny) my computer is, technically speaking, utterly fucked, and I have no idea what to do about it. Initial crash sparked by a Windows update. After reloading vista, windows updates returned and crashed it even worse so that it can't even be turned on properly. Turns out my three year dell warranty only covers hardware, so fixing this is going to take some serious cash, which is badly timed. After some eight hours of this futile soul sapping, I left home and met Lorraine for a couple of calming beers and some light Japanese food. This much the best part of the day. Interestingly, I have also been in contact with Sebastian Peake, Mervyn Peake's son, who has kindly given me permission to use a photo of his

Torment by PC Dreamed about a poem I have been writing, which was weird, and in the dream the hidden symbolism of it was explained. Working hard all day on Anthology of Guernsey stuff, plus working on a couple of poems. However any progress I have made was offset by my desktop PC. There was an update waiting which needed a computer restart, which I kept postponing while I finished my work. When I turned my computer again it will not start, and automatically closes down. It only works now in safe mode. Tried a million things to fix it. Bah. Watched footie on TV in the evening to try to forget.

A tourist in London Up to London today for some sustained pottering. Met Keith for a cheeky beer at lunch in Glamoursmith and, later, armed with some birthday Waterstones tokens, went to the biggest bookshop in Europe (a Waterstones ) on Piccadilly. Surprisingly predictable books, however. I had a mental list of books to buy, and only one was there: a collection of poems by Mervyn Peake , as not only is he a fascinating writer, he also lived in Sark for a few years. Enjoyed a coffee on the fifth floor, however, where I could log onto my crotchtop and enjoy the most expensive scone in history. Found myself wandering about London. It seemed full of tourists today, and I was asked twice to take photos, one man who I think was from Brazil wanting a picture of himself with Nelson's column. In the evening to Wimbledon to meet Marja and Sarah for a long overdue gossip, and was bought supper. Both have had some trying times lately. I came away feeling grateful for the course of my ow

Mindmaps and La Gran'mère No-nonsense Monday, some rain and Calliope tetchy and causing trouble. Covered several sheets of yellow (it must be yellow) paper with mind maps. Trying to get a helicopter view of my next steps in world domination. This took time but I have a clear new action plan. To celebrate went to the gym. Later, working on a poem about La Gran'mère . Took this to the pub late in the evening and had a long slow pint and suddenly the poem began to fall into place. I was delighted. Just as this happened Jen and Alex my next door neighbours, along with Alex's sister Charlotte, appeared, and they invited me to join them too. Really nice people.

An old fashioned Sunday hangover Up early due to the skewer someone had inserted in my skull overnight, and Shaila and I tottered up the hill to where she had parked her car, and drove about Brighton until we found a car park near the sparkling sea. Crept back to eat quorn sausage sandwiches with Lorraine, and sup teas as Calliope gambolled about. After some time Shaila felt she could cope with the drive home, and after walking her to her car, and fond farewells, I cooked a curry while Lorraine watched the last episodes of BSG. Lorraine went home to give some furniture to Graeme who is moving to Dorset. I shambled around later, to move a chest of draws and talk to each other in joined up sentences before ambling home again. Listening to Goodbye To All That by Robert Graves as an audiobook on the way home. His experiences at Charterhouse school sound utterly vile.

My birthday part two Now into the second week of my birthday celebrations. First tidying up my house in a frenzy in the morning, helped by the ever lovely Lorraine. Then Mum and Mase arrived first and were momentarily traumatised because I was in the corner shop, and thought they'd got the wrong day. Then my old school friend Shaila necessitated dancing about on the streets outside the stations looking for a glamorous sparrowy thing in a BMW. As we left for the Sussex Yeoman, a few yards around the corner, bumped into First Matie too. At the pub met Janet and Ken, Anton and Brian. Had some pretty nice snap and the conversation started to flow nicely. Also had several more presents too: one of those waterbottles you can put into your rucksack and suck water out from like you were in Dune, from Anton and Anna. A plastic model kit of an FW190 from my Godchildren, a beautiful designer jug from Janet and Ken, and some salad forks, a bottle of Champagne and books on Buddhism from Hong Ko

Crapauds! Head down today, working today on a poem about La Gran'mère which I had started earlier in the year. Suddenly shaping up. Also doing more on the Anthology of Guernsey site. I asked Ken to translate a poem by George Métivier called Aux Crapauds , or To the Crapauds (Jerseymen). Crapauds means toads and is what Guernsey people call those hailing from Jersey. And he came back with a translation in a couple of hours. I've made a few tweaks to Ken's version and here it is... To the Crapauds! Greetings to our dear cousins, the honourable toads! Slow you crawl, though are you any less beautiful? Don’t your indulgent friends always flatter you? Admire your great eyes ! they sparkle, And your sodden clothes have an enchanting shiny sheen, To delights the enlightened man, and seduce lovers. And even when you’re gobbing, soul sublime and pure, The naturalist will admire you as wildlife, And haughty Jersey, the mother feeds you, Balance in hand, weighs you; Ah! How she smiles

Bah I lacked focus and application today. Despite being early to work on a good new poem inspired by my last trip to Guernsey, then a slightly sluggish gym session. Later more birthday cards from Carl and my Mum and Mase. Also the standard rejection for Skelton Yawngrave from an underling at Bloomsbury. Spoke to Lorraine tonight, and she is working too hard and is overstretched. Also heard from my lovely French client that the work I did before the holiday had gone down well. Watched the movie What women want for about the fourth time today. A romcom with a concept. Being telepathic would be my superpower of choice I think. Afterwards Calliope and I watching highlights of England versus Belarus, when someone kicked my door hard. I opened it up and saw two execrable youths sprinting away in fits of laughter at the end of the Twitten. They had thoughtfully urinated on my gate so I found I was standing in piss in my socks. Nice.

Up to the smoke for supper Had an interesting conversation this morning with a micro publisher called Paul in Brighton, and we will meet up in a couple of weeks to discuss my various projects. He was very much of the opinion that a physical book is just one outlet, and that you should empower yourself. This is my philosophy too, but I dream of a time when I can just focus on the writing and not the hustling. Bitty bits of work today, and answering lots of emails from people saying happy birthday. Also got cards from Paddy and Shaila, old school friends, which was nice. Spoke to Bob who has had pneumonia and is on antibiotics after his swine flu. In the evening up to London to meet up with the folks from my old agency who I have been working with again lately. These include my pal Al and Helen who had been close colleagues. We met at Franco's just below Piccadilly. While it was good to catch up on the gossip with some old friends, I hated the restaurant. Unfriendly staff, pricey av

Five oh (my God) Today was my 50th birthday. I am still mostly in denial about this. And as Carl once said, there's only one thing worse than denial, and that's De Amazon. Lorraine and I met Matty and Kate at breakfast, where Lorraine gave me a lion headed door knocker, which is something I have wanted for ages. Then we off to St Peter Port. It was a fine morning, and I went into the library to get some information about George Métivier, "the Guernsey Burns", and then found myself popping around to the Pollet to buy myself a navy blue Guernsey sweater. Matty drove us to Moulin Huet pottery where Kate made a purchase, then we walked down to the bay with its warm turquoise water, where I had a quick birthday paddle in the bay I love the most. Everyone seemed to revel in the sun and tranquility of the bay. Eventually it was time to leave, and after the puff uphill,there were fond farewells, and Matty drove Lorraine and I off to the airport. It was a wonderful flight home

The Vazon wind Cold and wintery today. After breakfast, five large people crammed into Kate's minute hire Ka and we set off to the Little Chapel. Everyone liked this and there was a blaze of competitive photography. It is a tiny building, decorated with broken china. I noticed this time that when you are inside its unlit interior down in the lower part, that the little shafts of light make the china begin to look like a dim stained glass window. From here we drove to the west coast, stopping for a cup of tea opposite the cup and saucer (Fort Grey) as Craig was on a mission to buy souvenier tea towels. Then driving along the coast until Vazon where we walked about in the wind and under dark skies, and it was fabulous. Few people around, and the flat sand dotted with torn away clumps of bladderwrack. Had a mental flashback to being a child running down to the sea with Toby (who always liked Vazon) holding a inflated lilo in the wind. From there into town for a slow meal in the harbou

The Little Chapel

The wishing pool A large breakfast for five, and then out into the fresh air. First to La Gran'mère, and then into Samaurez Park for a farmer's market. I'd not been to Sausmarez Manor for years, and it was dotted with sculptures, and teeming with ducks and chickens. From there I took everyone in a sceneic route to the wishing well, where everyone applied themselves to wishing business with commendable seriousness. And I emboldened by last night, said a few lines from an old poem of mine about making a wish in that very place. From there we followed the water lane down to the cliff path, from where we walked above the sparkling sea to Jerbourg. Very happy that Craig and Matty, who'd never been to Guernsey, really liked it. Kate had been there once before. The weather became gorgeous and everything was colourful and with a faint touch of autumn in the rustiness of the cliff ferns. Eventually after scrambling over the cliffs we stopped at The Auberge for a delightful meal

Enter three revellers Mysterious foggy morning, and after a large La Barbarie breakfast Lorraine and I walked into the mist to the florist, then to my Grandparent's grave, then down to La Gran'mère to tell her I'd returned. A walk about in another misty autumnal graveyard around St Martin's parish church talking to poor Lorraine about mortality and death. Then we walked down to the sea at Moulin Huet and had a spot of meditation and suddenly felt less brooding. Back to La Barbarie where we had a sandwich in the bar. Just then Matty and Katie walked into the bar. Now I have been in many bars in my life where Matty and Katie walking in is as natural as daylight. But this was in Guernsey and a complete surprise. My sparkling mineral water was swiftly replaced with a gin and tonic, and soon we were marching about on the cliffs again. After this home again, and a quick snooze. After a quick doze back to the bar to discover that Craig had come too. It was all a lovely suprise

Third time a charm Fortunately the French Tourism work was quickly done and dusted this morning, which gave me time to pack in a relaxed way. Lorraine arrived shortly before we were to leave for the airport, only to disappear again as she had forgotten her passport. Calliope following me into the Twitten and yowling before I went. Lorraine and I off to Gatwick cutting it fine, but all well, and soon we we soon in an Auringy two engined prop en route to Guernsey. The Channel blanketed with cloud, and the plane's landing was a great thump as we were caught in a low gust of wind under the low cover. Very happy to be back on the island again for the third time this year. And this time as a present from Lorraine for my impending 50th birthday. We were at La Barbarie in no time. And we soon set off for a walk around Icart Point as the sun made last peach coloured splashes in the grey, and the colours were singing with a subdued grandeur. Back the hotel for a nice pint of beer and some de

Fighting with my other girlfriend Furious this morning. I'd slept badly and Calliope woke me by painfully inserting her claws into the sole of my foot. For some reason this filled me with instant savage rage. She hid under the bed, but I yanked her out and shook her like the worst kind of animal abuser, and booted her out of the room. I could hear her rushing up and down the stairs, and then shredding the toilet roll in the bathroom before going outside. Then she miaowed piteously and unceasingly in the rain, until with another roar of rage I had to bring her in and make peace. By then I was totally awake. It was 6:15. So I got to work on French things for my French client. How much more enjoyable this work is that writing about ailments. All it does is make me want to go to France, rather than imagine I am picking at a smorgasbord of morbidities. On that note, I broke off to go to the quack who wanted to check my blood pressure, which even after waiting in the waiting room for an

Getting ready to steal (off to) Guernsey As surely as a solitary magpie heralds disaster, a minor PK ailment heralds work. And so waking up feeling rather hot and lifeless, my lovely French client soon got in touch needing some concepts and a speedy turnaround. Good to squeeze in this smidge of work, also did a little more on the anthology of Guernsey site, uploading a excerpt from Folklore of Guernsey by Marie De Garis about the time when the fairies (from far-away England) invaded Guernsey. Matthew the composer got in touch with some interesting comments on the poems I sent him. Looking forward to discussing things more over a beer, and learning about composition. There are some amazing snippets of his music on his website. And Mark Hill pointed me to this sample of the travel book he is working on. Getting ready to hoof over to Guernsey with Lorraine on Thursday. Also reading last night about the three Jerseymen who tried to steal Guernsey, by drunkenly roping their boat to rocks

An indolent Monday Listening this morning to recordings of radio versions of the Skelton story I sent to Mindy and her colleague Mark. These all quite good, and fascinating to hear how other people do his voice. They've both done it rather fruitily, which I wasn't expecting but works rather well. Also spoke to Pat, still waiting for the result of the pitch we did last week. Went to the gym at lunchtime, and trundled about a bit. But was hit by a freak tsunami of indolence this afternoon. This doesn't happen very often, so after a while I simply didn't fight it.

Mark's party Mark's 18th birthday party today. Off in the car with Lorraine and Sam to join in the fun. A very good afternoon with cake and quiche and boozes and a good deal of lurchy dancing. A real family affair, and it occurred to me that I have known none of these people for more than two years, but it felt very good. Mark on very good form, having spent most of his adulthood acquainting himself with now-legal boozes. Being Mark, he and Beth did a variety of songs. Also some rambly speeches, and Mark and his brother David being very funny doing hobbit lines from The Lord of the Rings. The family are all rather short. I gave Mark A Season in Hell , by Arthur Rimbaud which, curiously, he was rather pleased with. I am very fond of Mark, who rather reminds me of myself at that age if I had been able to sing really well. Also good to see Sam on one of his chatty days, having to fend off the attentions of many ladies. At one point the song Things was played, which brought a tear

Cylon loving Frak me! Lorraine and I watched about six episodes of Battlestar Galactica today. This left precious little time for anything else other than going out shopping in Brighton for a couple of hours and having coffee somewhere. Outside it is becoming autumnal and cool. The beach was denuded of police and politicians and sunbathers, and the sea looked like this:

A waxing moon Wrote a short self-contained Skelton Yawngrave story this morning and sent this off to Mindy to record. It has Skelton going to the Natural History Museum and the staff thinking he was an escaped exhibit. In the afternoon did some cosmetic housecleaning and worked more on my Guernsey Anthology site, which is just beginning to take shape, and will soon be ready to unleash. Otherwise feeling tetchy. It is a significant birthday this month, and so naturally I have not been able to let this happen without a drift into brooding about failure and underachievement. At times like this meditation helps, so I meditated and then continued working with the waxing moon in my window until Lorraine came. Talking to Lorraine made things seem better, and halfway through a pint of beer in the Cricketers, the world seemed positively fine, and I recalled that I was fairly big and clever. Thence to the Agra where we were warmly welcome by Ash the owner. There was a good new chef too. Chattin

Hard work, little progress Spent all morning completing a short Skelton Yawngrave story for the radio pilot, only to discover that Mindy and I had got our wires crossed, and I'd written a story with a cliffhanger, and this was supposed to be a self-contained story for the pilot. The story I did write, however, is actually a prototype for the opening of the next novel, so not wasted time at all. Received a standard rejection ("not right for our list") from an agent this evening. I have already sent it to another agent and publisher, so not too troubled by this, although naturally would have preferred some interest. Otherwise worked on the Guernsey Anthology which is progressing at snail's pace, and went to the gym for some more mild mannered exercise. Got stir crazy in the evening and had a long chat with Lorraine, which helped and went to the Batty for a quick beer, which also helped.