Ash
Good progress on my poems this morning, which was a relief. Realised today something I should have realised 30 years ago. That it is much easier to write poetry to a brief (i.e. in this case writing about Guernsey) than just to float about waiting for inspiration to strike.
Then off out to have a cup of tea round at Lorraine's house. Beth, Lorraine and I mooched off and bought vegetable samosas from a nearby health food shop. Then after munching one of these, with chili jam that Lorraine fed me, I zoomed off to buy washing powder and visit the printer to enquire about prices for A4 sheets. In the afternoon worked on laying out an advert for A Guernsey Double using a photo I shot recently of me and Richard, one of the very few in which I don't look gormless.
Late afternoon a soft knock on the door from Bob, who'd manifested himself in the Twitten. Had a good night out with him walking between pubs, generally putting the world to rights. The old mad dog on good form, and despite firm agreement not to do so at the beginning of the night, inevitably we found ourselves forking into a cheeky curry and, in Bob's case, a vindaloo.
Meanwhile in other news a huge plume of volcanic ash from Iceland, high in the atmosphere grounded almost all flights in UK airspace. Curiously little coverage of its health implications in the media.
Good progress on my poems this morning, which was a relief. Realised today something I should have realised 30 years ago. That it is much easier to write poetry to a brief (i.e. in this case writing about Guernsey) than just to float about waiting for inspiration to strike.
Then off out to have a cup of tea round at Lorraine's house. Beth, Lorraine and I mooched off and bought vegetable samosas from a nearby health food shop. Then after munching one of these, with chili jam that Lorraine fed me, I zoomed off to buy washing powder and visit the printer to enquire about prices for A4 sheets. In the afternoon worked on laying out an advert for A Guernsey Double using a photo I shot recently of me and Richard, one of the very few in which I don't look gormless.
Late afternoon a soft knock on the door from Bob, who'd manifested himself in the Twitten. Had a good night out with him walking between pubs, generally putting the world to rights. The old mad dog on good form, and despite firm agreement not to do so at the beginning of the night, inevitably we found ourselves forking into a cheeky curry and, in Bob's case, a vindaloo.
Meanwhile in other news a huge plume of volcanic ash from Iceland, high in the atmosphere grounded almost all flights in UK airspace. Curiously little coverage of its health implications in the media.
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