Pain free
Migraine abated today, thank goodness. A beautiful mild afternoon, full of sunlight. Amazing how the absence of pain can make the world so wonderful. Went to my usual cafe and had an idea for another short story, which I set to, and began to write in the early part of the evening. Walked about in town and onto the pier until the single cloud in an otherwise clear sky got in the way of the sun for half an hour.
Got up early and prepared a bean jar, and the house full with the aroma of herby beany goodness. Had bowls of this with Lorraine when she came by this evening, and a quiet drink. Poor thing was shattered after an arduous week.
Much news coverage of John Terry the Chelsea captain who has been sacked as England football captain for having an affair with a girlfriend of a team mate while being married. English culture oscillates effortlessly between prim censure and crass vulgarity. I feel quite sorry for him. It was an easy mistake to make, I explained to Lorraine, who didn't see it quite the way I did.
On another football note, Anton called me during the week "needing to pick my brain" and asked me what the underside of a ship was called. I replied a hull, which led instantly to a discussion of Chelsea's disappointing midweek performance against Hull City.
Received a copy of Island Ink with a notice about the Anthology of Guernsey and a poem of mine in it. The poem was crammed on a page with two others, and in the gutter (i.e. in the middle near the fold). Not very impressed, although I understand the imperative to cram as much in as possible.
Migraine abated today, thank goodness. A beautiful mild afternoon, full of sunlight. Amazing how the absence of pain can make the world so wonderful. Went to my usual cafe and had an idea for another short story, which I set to, and began to write in the early part of the evening. Walked about in town and onto the pier until the single cloud in an otherwise clear sky got in the way of the sun for half an hour.
Got up early and prepared a bean jar, and the house full with the aroma of herby beany goodness. Had bowls of this with Lorraine when she came by this evening, and a quiet drink. Poor thing was shattered after an arduous week.
Much news coverage of John Terry the Chelsea captain who has been sacked as England football captain for having an affair with a girlfriend of a team mate while being married. English culture oscillates effortlessly between prim censure and crass vulgarity. I feel quite sorry for him. It was an easy mistake to make, I explained to Lorraine, who didn't see it quite the way I did.
On another football note, Anton called me during the week "needing to pick my brain" and asked me what the underside of a ship was called. I replied a hull, which led instantly to a discussion of Chelsea's disappointing midweek performance against Hull City.
Received a copy of Island Ink with a notice about the Anthology of Guernsey and a poem of mine in it. The poem was crammed on a page with two others, and in the gutter (i.e. in the middle near the fold). Not very impressed, although I understand the imperative to cram as much in as possible.
Comments