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 afternoon I returned to the magic cafe. Here I drastically reordered two of my Guernsey poems and they suddenly are working better than I'd dared hope. One I started seven years ago fell into place.
A large Americano with a splash of milk did the trick, I think the Guernsey Double poems that Richard and I are putting together will be something to be proud of. Richard's poems are wonderful, and mine are taking shape in a way that pleases me. Later got an email from Richard, who has got us an appearance on the Jim Cathcart show on BBC Guernsey, talking about the Anthology and other stuff. It should be fun.
In the evening Lorraine and I imaginatively repaired to the The Battle of Trafalgar for cheeky beers. Lorraine has a new buyer in place for her house who wants to move in in three weeks, so she was much more cheery, but trying not to get her hopes up.
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 afternoon I returned to the magic cafe. Here I drastically reordered two of my Guernsey poems and they suddenly are working better than I'd dared hope. One I started seven years ago fell into place.
A large Americano with a splash of milk did the trick, I think the Guernsey Double poems that Richard and I are putting together will be something to be proud of. Richard's poems are wonderful, and mine are taking shape in a way that pleases me. Later got an email from Richard, who has got us an appearance on the Jim Cathcart show on BBC Guernsey, talking about the Anthology and other stuff. It should be fun.
In the evening Lorraine and I imaginatively repaired to the The Battle of Trafalgar for cheeky beers. Lorraine has a new buyer in place for her house who wants to move in in three weeks, so she was much more cheery, but trying not to get her hopes up.
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Imagine the chaos if it had been your nighttime gin.
Never quit the blog. It's a treat.