under another sun

Arundel Off to Arundel today for a general mooch about. Lorraine looking at it as a possible location for her to live. But she decided against it, despite it being a very beautiful place. Into the St Nicholas Church and the Catholic Cathedral where I lit a candle, thinking of Sprinkles and our visit there. After we wandered about town a little before finding Martin, who had been painting in his studio for a quick chat in the Eagle pub near an open fire. The fire a tad warmer than the welcome. The temperatured dropping, we returned to Brighton, where we bought a takeaway curry for supper. I spoke to Matt, who is now on variation seven, and has recruited a new violinist for our concert. Below noticed one of the Romantic Poets series the Guardian published this week in a bin. A great idea but they were printed on such uselessly thin stock that it didn't work. Poems are to keep. Inside Arundel Cathedral, in the grounds of St Nicholas church.

Catnip bananas Received a note from Rufus explaining that he and his sister are not Highland Terriers but Border Terriers. I always thought there was more going on inside that dog's head than he let on. A busy day with Lorraine. Off to Top Cats this morning with Brian and the bulky Basil squeezed into the carrier. It is relaxing going to Top Cats, drenched as it is in plug-in cat pheromones. You can browse in Cats magazine, and chat about the ways of one's naughty torties with the nurse receptionist. Calliope, apparently, has a genetic reason for her willful behaviour. Lorraine brought two cloth bananas stuffed with dried catnip. She threw it to Brian who indeed went bananas writhing about, kicking and biting. Then to Hove Town Hall, where I got some visitor's parking tickets. My Twitten did not appear on their lists, as it doesn't have a road on it, so I had to point out exactly where it was. Unlike Top Cats, I was not among my tribe - all these people could drive, and

Under Mars Woke up with an idea for a Guernsey based story this morning, and got it down quickly. Then paid my tax via the interweb: a sobering business. Received a call about an appointment for a bowel check up, which is sensible if somewhat lacking in the glamour normally associated with this blog. Spent the afternoon tidying up. I have the psychological need to get everything straight, so I can slice efficiently into next week. Collected Lorraine and we walked out into a cold night, under a bright full moon with Mars near to it, at a mere 55.7 million km away from earth. It was so close that it is visibly red when glimpsed with the corner of your eye. To the Engineer for a drinks and a cheap and tasty bowl of chilli. To meet Roland and Jay, the couple we'd met on New Year's Eve, and some of their friends. Nice pub and pleasant people, every time I opened my mouth however, I had the sensation I was alienating someone. A disconcerting experience. However Roland a nice chap, an

Guernsey underwing Up and packing, fond farewells to Jane, a rumpling of terriers, then Richard was kind enough to drive me to the airport. A bit blurry headed with lack of sleep. Really sorry to be leaving Guernsey as usual, but very happy to have had such a good time with Richard and Jane. I am really lucky to know them. The plane took off into the west and banked north to follow the west coast, and I could look down on Lihou and places I'd just been. Then the sea and islands disappeared beneath a blanket of white cloud. An uneventful flight (just how I like them) and after collecting strangeface from the carousel I was home at 12:30. Calliope pleased to see me, and the house in one piece and the fish alive thanks to Beth and Mark. Off shopping. Then a big wave of tiredness, having slept less than two hours the night before, and a snooze on the gold sofa with the cat purring on me. Mum called, she has a cold but is otherwise fine. She heard me on the radio and thinks Richard a

Joyful Cliff Path Joyful Cliff Path is the name of a new coffee from Guernsey. It is hard to imagine anything that could so neatly dwell in the intersection of the venn diagram of my Twin Peaks/Guernsey obsessions. Some nervous pacing about this morning. Richard and I were due to appear on BBC Guernsey's Jim Cathcart show. Got into the van with the dogs and sped off to the studios. We were listening to the show en route and hearing their continuing series about an objects which tell a special story. Arthur from the Vale brought in a spring jumper, which was used in shaping quarried granite. As we waited in the reception area, Arthur emerged wielding a heavy rusty two ended metal spear like a character from Stone De Croze, the Original Guernseyman. This apparition made Richard and I laugh a tad hysterically after he'd left, explaining in a slightly downbeat way that it was only the second best spring jumper on the island. Jim was extremely professional and made me feel relaxed r

Busy being poets Richard and I spent the day in the company of Rufus and Holly the Highland* Terriers. We were discussing important matters such as our Guernsey Doubles collection while driving around Guernsey. A day wandering free as birds about the island is one that's hard to beat. Joan Ozanne had invited us in for coffee. She is a genuinely fascinating woman, a mine of information with a speed of thought, and twinkle in her eye, which completely belies her age. She introduced me to some work by Denys Corbet , another Guernsey poet of the nineteenth century, and told me about a play she was writing set in Costa Rica. She said she'd lived in her house almost all her life, apart from when she joined the evacuation, as a teenager, just before the Germans came. Her father had hastily buried liqueurs in the garden, and found them years after the family's return, still drinkable. We then sloped off to The Farmhouse, a place new to me not far from the airport for lunch of incr

Off to Guernsey Felt curiously exhausted and nauseous this morning. Rushed about in a disorganised way until it was time to leave. Beth arriving just as I left, to accept the furry cat shaped baton. Flight fairly execrable. Bouncing in the air, and a long climb through drizzly clouds to a short sojourn in the sun. I was on Mr Beanish form, trying to oust a nervous flier from her seat thinking she'd taken mine, dropping stuff out of my bag, and repeatedly getting up to grapple in the overhead locker and making the man next to me tut. Richard collected me from the airport in his van, and we headed to where he and Jane live behind Bordeaux Harbour up in the Vale, in the north of the island. Strange not to be going instead to St Martin's. The afternoon spent talking and walking around the harbour, and looking north at the grey, white horsed sea. The dogs running about gleefully in the rain, and rolling in the seaweed. Jane back from a hard day's work. Despite this, and me lurki

A twitching After a sluggish morning to Woods Mill this afternoon. Walked about the wood and squelched across some nearby fields with Lorraine. Snowdrops emerging in the wood, which was nice. In the small wood, which is used as an educational resource locally, we sat in a bird hide and hunched forward to look at blue tits, great tits, long tailed tits, chaffinches, robins, tree creepers and robins about their avian business. I don't think I'd seen treecreepers, which are small brownish things with white fronts, which methodically creep up trees, starting from the bottom, in search of insects. The long tailed tits were I think also new to me. Lovely pinkish colouration. Eventually tore ourselves away from this curiously wonderful interlude. Home to a spot of packing, and getting myself sorted out. Writing this before seeing a documentary about another of my heroes... Brian Eno. Yippee. Below the afternoon also gave Lorraine the opportunity to hug trees. A shot of winter trees,

Firewalk on the sofa After a late start, got up to buy a present for Klaudia. Lorraine and I dropped a big pink box of Lego and a birthday card off and chatted with everyone briefly before they started their busy weekend. Those kids are excellent. Klaudia seeming to like her lego. More bits of small stuff for the vacuum cleaner to ingest. A very chilled day. I made Lorraine watch Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me . I enjoyed it even more the second time around. David Lynch is one of my heroes. Funnily enough this movie was panned on release but it is splendid and dark. I think Mark Kermode says it is his favourite Lynch film, and I can see why as it seems to sit bull's-eye on various Lynch tropes. Laura Palmer's descent into an abused darkness is horrible, and utterly brilliant. It was good to watch it in the afternoon sitting on my gold sofa, so not to be too scared afterwards. Below David Lynch at random. On the iPone.What a guy.

A drink with First Matie and Nick Swipe me, finally paid by my old agency. Also Matt sent me a postcard of an angel in St Michael's church, which looked amazing, and hopefully can be incorporated into our publicity. Fiddling with poems in preparation to seeing Richard and Jane next week. Really looking forward to going across to Guernsey. Late in the afternoon I received a call from First Matie, which was very well timed as my head was ready to explode. Met her and her pal Nick for a drink in the Eagle, just like a normal person, having a drink after work. Nice to see them. Nick about to leave Brighton for Bristol. First Matie looking well and on good form. After, chugged sparkling water until Lorraine arrived. Another swift beer and a takeaway Chinese meal later, we slugged on the sofa watching crap TV. Here is the latest version of one of the poems I have been working on. Guernsey is a spooky place sometimes, and this is an attempt to capture that feeling. Night walk The whine

Probed Off to the quack this morning to arrange to have a colon and bowel check up. Gyp of this sort runs in the family (like noses) so it is seems prudent to establish regular check ups. In the waiting room I bumped into Anna (Klaudia and Oskar's Godmother) and it was good to chat instead of reading the ghastly ailment posters. What is worse than a DRE (digital rectal examination) I thought, staring shyly at the wall in the corner of the surgery, must be having to conduct them on a regular basis. I thought of those kids at school who wanted to be doctors, and then pictured them repeatedly having to stick their fingers into people's bottoms. Soon I was in the magic cafe for coffee and a spot of poetry before getting on with the rest of my day. In the evening off to see Beth acting again for her A level drama exam. Three devised pieces. Beth excellent in her one. The last piece was really good drama with an "existential" theme, and I was particularly moved by a shy red

Jumping giant mushrooms First thing this morning, the strange sensation of my brain scrambling back in my skull having been out clubbing for a couple of days, or having weird brain-only sex in a carpark. Consequently found myself able to form sentences and work on poems about Guernsey, and various blogs and sites in preparation for my Guernsey trip next week. In the evening went up to hang out with Anton. He had cued up Marquee Moon by Television, and The Yes Album by Yes. Good to hear those ancient 70s favourites on vinyl through Anton's superduper stereo. Both the products of people trying their hardest to do something different, and so they sound quite fresh still. After a fine repast of toad in the hole we repaired upstairs to play the Wii driving game, without the interference of children. Anna found us driving furiously on the sofa some time later, jumping over giant mushrooms on the screen. I drive a pink car with a girl driver and wings, as this is Klaudia's car I got

Brain fog again Brain fog continues. Most days my concentration is excellent. I am very lucky. But today, I was losing the thread every three or four minutes. Even mindmaps and listing things weren't helping. A boring day of dealing with tax, accountants, my old agency (wanting me to out forms before I can be paid for the paltry two days they still owe me). Unable to focus, apart from a brief spell in the magic cafe. Stared dully at TV in the evening watching Manchester United get beaten. I hope the brain business lifts before I arrive in Guernsey. Poor Lorraine undergoing ghastly house moving stress. Not much I can do to help, other than listen. Shaila gave me some Buddhism books she picked up while in Hong Kong. I was reading one in bed last night, and the calmness and lack of judgement that exuded from it is so refreshing. Religions other than Buddhism seem to me increasingly absurd. I have no problem with the idea of God - I love God - but religious hierarchies, or people who s

Fog on the brain After working through the to do list, I took myself for a walk down by the sea, where it was mysteriously foggy. Perfect conditions, in fact, to rage at your camera as its battery gives out after two shots. A plethora of deathless photos untaken. Then to the magic cafe for coffee and a tinker with poems. Brain foggy today too, however, so not to much avail. Tried to stay up late tonight to watch a movie called 24 Days Later featuring turbo-zombies (one of its innovations were that zombies could move very fast). Scary and it was late so I went to bed halfway through. Below the burnt down old West Pier, emerging from the fog like a kraken.

Avatar Finally saw this today with Lorraine. It is utterly breathtaking. It has moments of more intensely realised alien beauty than I have ever seen. It is even more thoroughly influenced by Roger Dean than I'd thought. The islands floating in the sky, the huge arches, the dragons in the forest, and their vivid colouring and spatter patterns are all straightforward lifts from Dean, as are some of the vehicles and animals. Roger Dean has been trying to get a movie underway based on his floating island concepts, and I can't imagine what is going through his head. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but it must be utterly galling to have been so robbed of your concepts without acknowledgement. But there is so much more added into this Dean template to bring it life, the movie can be forgiven. It is a spellbinding world. The story is predictable, straightforward and heavy handed, but because of its fabulous context this is easy to overlook. It is a must see movie. First

Friends and variations Busy day today. Matt came around at noon, shortly after Lorraine and I had emerged, and we had a meeting about This concert will fall in love with you . He also played me through parts of the first five variations. It is incredibly exciting to hear them take shape, and how they interlace and enlarge on the words I've written. Even at this early stage, it is clear just how accomplished he is, and how this work will shine. We also discussed how we were going to promote it, and I've come up with a look and feel Matt's happy with. We were sat on my round table while we were talking and Calliope insisted sitting with her nose an inch away from Matt's pad. From there off to the now-traditional Basketmakers where we met Lorraine, Matty boy and Craig who'd come down from London, and Matt's pal John. A cheery afternoon in the pub, with great gusts of chatting and generally hanging out and catching up. Matty and Craig both looking splendid, and on f

In the magic cafe Calliope woke me up by treading on my head, then knocking over my bedside water and drenching two Sylvia Plath collections, The King James Bible, David Lynch's Catching The Big Fish , and Ghost Stories by Edith Wharton. All of these had to be dried on radiators. The appalling weasel made herself scarce for half an hour afterwards. But the fates were not on her side, as the battery on her catdoor gave out and she was stranded outside for some time. Much chastened when she was brought in. All good today. Feeling positive, and managed to get through to the right people at my old agency, and so will be paid what I' m owed. Also had a nice chat with a designer friend, about doing some work together, and Mum asking her about the colour of the sea in Guernsey when you paint it. It has two tones, a turquiose where the sand is, and a darker colour I thought was Prussian blue, but Mum says is more of an indigo (having painted it several times). Even better, in the afte

From the bubble Haiti is hell. Watching TV with waves of horror and sympathy for those broken people, wandering stunned in streets of cadavers. I will send money from my little bubble of English safety. I popped briefly into the gym. And later back to what I now think of as my lucky cafe and, despite a baby screaming for twenty minutes, managed to completely review my poems. I made some exciting progress. Tried and failed to get a response from my old agency about the money they owe me. It's not malevolence, just inefficiency. But wasting so much time chasing is galling. Took myself out late this evening for a quiet beer and to read Dictée , by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha. My old university friend Michael Stone Richards has written a paper about it. With a first skim it appears to be about the struggle to speak, and how individuals' lives have been dictated by forces beyond their control, the struggles of nations, the impositions of foreign languages and so on. MSR has a fascination

"You know this is, excuse me, a damn fine cup of coffee. I've had I can't tell you how many cups of coffee in my life, and this...this is one of the best." Perhaps inspired by watching Agent Cooper imbibe coffee with amazed delight (as I watched the first series of Twin Peaks again over the last couple of weeks) I have been taking myself for coffee. In fact my latest short story, Where the beauty is , is mainly set in a cafe. I went to my new coffee house today, the Caffè Nero on Prince Albert Street near the sea. A change of scene is incredibly good for the brain, especially as one under siege where the forces of snow and gloom combined (it was snowing steadily this morning, but by the evening was melting again). However with two damn fine cups of coffee I unleashed a couple of mind maps, and a much-needed session of prioritising my various plans and schemes. After this was done, I felt that the tanker of gloom had suddenly come about, and I was back on course. Home

The Mammoth Odd beach like sensation in bed. Gradually worked out that now that there's a thaw, Calliope is trotting grit into my sheets. All day I have had this image in my head of a mammoth in a glacier. The mammoth stands for progress and my joie de vivre which is resolutely sealed away. It's the January Blues. I hate January. January is scum. The media is full of finger-wagging. An article on the BBC: a sedentary life spent staring at screens will kill you. As this is pretty much all I have done over the last few weeks, and I am morbidly obese, I decided to have a day of moving to stave off an abrupt demise. Had a longish walk by the sea, in nose-pinching cold. The pier almost deserted. A keen wind biting through the rides and stalls, and hardy men mending things out of sight with power tools. The merry-go-round horses stored in a pile under canvas sheets, and above them half a dozen silent seagulls stationary in the sky. Then to my new cafe to work. As I walked in the two

Norman morning Up early and working on headlines for my French client before eight. A small part of what I was writing referred to the Festival of Impressionism in Normandy this summer. Looking at some Claude Monet, and drinking in the sunshine of another century for a few minutes. At noon I was all done with French copy, and I bolted outside. Still despicable underfoot, but made it as far as the supermarket where I panic bought three packs of Quorn sausages and some catfood. In the afternoon recorded myself reading the first bit of This concert will fall in love with you . Matt had gently nudged me by text. Despite the fact he only wanted a rough guide, it took twelve attempts and I was a bus ride away from being happy with the results. Downloaded Crazy Talk software, which Lorraine suggested to me. You can use it to animate paintings and so on. Investigating ways of bringing Skelton Yawngrave to life. But it seems to be a world of fun. A Twin Peaks fix tonight. Got to the point now w

Little monsters Lorraine and I took care of my Godchildren Klaudia and Oskar this weekend. The children by and large exceedingly adorable, and as good as gold. Lorraine, of course, brilliant with the kids and I'm not sure I could have done it without her. But I really enjoyed swirling them upside down around the room by their ankles, reading stories, playing Super Mario go-cart things on Wii and so on. After a fairly relaxed Saturday afternoon, and a spot of Horrid Henry on TV, the children went off to bed nicely, Oskar falling asleep half way through his tea, and both bairns peeped not all night. Klaudia walked brightly into the bedroom at 6:20am on Sunday and turned the light and TV on. For a variety of reasons I'd hardly slept the night before, so had mixed feelings about this. Lorraine resolutely snoozing. But soon Oskar followed and I had a child snuggled under each arm as we watched CBeebies . After breakfast, which was accompanied by the children walking around wit

Sub-zero Friday and crunched back over the ice and snow from Lorraine's house. In her street, this being Brighton, a snow version of the Eiffel Tower was taking shape. The steep Guildford Road, onto which my Twitten leads, a deathtrap and I was lucky not to fall, even though I was digging in my walking stick with its bitey metal end. Safely home, I worked on copy about Normandy for the lovely French client. All this sub-zero life makes me think of Toby and Romy and Joan and Dick. I'm now only beginning to be able to vaguely imagine how isolating months of real Canadian snow might feel. Below construction in Lorraine's road.

Into the white wilds of Brighton Calliope woke me sliding her catfoody chops on my face. Hard frost overnight, and a little more snow. Worked on my poems this morning, finishing one about the clock my grandparents had in Guernsey, which disconcertingly dongs when you pick it up, even though it is not wound and now lives in a box. I was contacted by my French clients with a brief on some digital work promoting Normandy, which at least is a part of France I have been too. Quite a handy drop of work right now, while it is virtually impossible to get out there and schmooze. In the evening off to see Lorraine. Walked there, feeling rather adventurous, and grateful for my walking stick with its jabby end, and wore many layers and a fleecy hat and walking boots. Some treacherous stretches, and the ice cracking underfoot, and the snow and air sparkling on the edge of the park. Really nice evening with Lorraine and Dawn. Dawn brought some mulled wine with her, and we drank this and ate a Christ

On ice The media full of snow and an ill conceived attempt to unseat Brown, our hapless Prime Minister. The Brighton streets less lethal than last time, and the snow slushy. Emerging from Tesco Metro I heard a peeping of my name and saw Anna and Klaudia and Oskar. I crossed the road and right away, and rather peskily, Oskar threw some slush in my face. Remarkably well aimed for a three year old. They'd obviously had loads of fun today. Back in my Twitten, and there was some effort being made by its denizens to clear it, so I got busy with my spade too. Had a nice chat with my trombonist neighbour Mark as we worked. Indoors to a spot of turkey curry, and an episode of Twin Peaks. Below Royal Pavilion at slushy dusk.

An evening with Ken and Janet Working on Guernsey poems today, and I am planning a scoot over to my beloved island later this month (which is gripped in snow today) to see Richard and Jane to talk about our poetry project. Also tinkering with some new poems about the island. It's time to change up a gear with the Guernsey stuff I'm doing. To the gym. A few folks in the virtuous first flush of January. I waddled about for half an hour or so and, if nothing else, felt much warmer. Supper at Janet and Ken's house. I met Lorraine there. Janet showing us some very good work she is doing with fabrics. She has taken a big step forward. Her latest piece features Canadian rain forest, which Lorraine loved right away due to tree hugging tendencies, and reminded me of the Canadian art I was loving so much last time I went to the Art Gallery of Ontario. The answer to my French malaise was also staring me in the face. Ken is one of those annoying people who can get by in a dozen languag

Undeck the halls of boughs and holly For many, today is the The Great Monday of the Year. But I just want to get stuck in again, and feel very grateful to have the opportunity to do so. But first... Spent the day on admin of all kinds: chasing freelance payments (my old agency again ), working through emails, hoovering, and taking down the tree and other fripperies of Christmas, with Calliope diving noisily into the bauble bag. Had a long chat with Matt about This concert will fall in love with you. Both very excited about it. Before the concert I need to start strutting about on stage again. But I feel rusty, and need to get back in the saddle somehow. Had a much needed quiet night sipping Japanese green tea. Very cold, so I sat on the sofa under a blanket (and a strategically placed Calliope) and started watching my all time favourite drama series Twin Peaks again. Poor Laura Palmer, wrapped in plastic.

The last of Christmas Talked to Mum, Anton and Janet today. Lorraine thanked mum for the painting she had made of the view down to Moulin Huet. Arranged to see Janet and Ken in the week, and also, gulp, agreed to babysit my godbairns next weekend, which will be an experience. Lorraine and I off to stroll about town. With the tsunami of work surging towards everyone, we clung onto the last afternoon of the holiday. Stopped for coffee and then decided to eat some lunch at The Basketmakers. On walking into the pub we bumped into Lorraine's ex and his partner, plus Sam. We took over their table when they left, me mincing across the pub on slightly curled toes. After a hearty meal, we were joined by Matt who happened to be seeing friends nearby, and had a drink with him. He has written the second variation of This concert will fall in love with you , and has now embarked on the third. Will have to start getting my promotional rear in gear for this soon. Exciting stuff, can't wait un

An end of indolence Slugging had to end today. Up early in the sun and off to the supermarket, and then for a much needed haircut. Philosophical feelings about seeing the grey hair in my lap, remembering the black curls of yesteryear. Searching again for the mute button on the barber. Lorraine and I strolled down by the sea, which was bustling and fun. Eventually we stopped at the cafe, where we shared a hunk of rock cake and had coffees. A clear day and Worthing distinct in the distance. In the evening off to see Where the wild things are having failed to get into the 3D Avatar. Where the wild things are, is based on the Maurice Sendak book. It's director Spike Jonze says is not a film for children but "a movie about childhood". Some beautiful surrealistic moments and fantasy. But to me it seemed 20 minutes too long,despite only coming in at about 1hr 40 mins . But well worth seeing. Home and a long chat with Toby, who had just returned from Deviation Road which is

Indolent First day of the year, (the cool 01/01/10) spent nursing a hangover and slumping before the TV with Lorraine. It blurted past happily enough with its stream of Dr Who and Gavin and Stacey and a plethora of other instantly forgotten stuff, while grazing on food and sipping teas.