Calm and Carmen An extra hour's sleep with the clock falling back. Up slowly to sift through photos from yesterday and watch again my DVD of the Flamenco version of Carmen . Such a great film featuring fierce flamenco dancing and a sexy as anything Carmen in Laura Del Sol. Then shops and back to Lorraine's house for Sunday roast with Betty and Mark. Nice hanging about the new kitchen island as Lorraine cooked. Mark now not touring local old folks' homes for a while, and he and Betty were running through a home movie they made of themselves preparing a meal a la the Come Dine With Me TV programme. They are so funny and natural in front of the camera. I am eyeing them keenly at the moment, with an idea about a play. But I have more projects that Brooklyn, so wondering how I can fit everything in, and still earn some money. All forked down a nice roast and homemade fruity ice cream, and there was some playing of the Wii in a supermario brothers game, which I'd not played
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Owl day, white night Off to Lewes Garden centre this morning with Lorraine and a hangover to meet First Matie, as Katie had spotted during the week that there would be owls there. I am rather fond of owls. Met First Matie in the carpark and wandered inside the garden centre to find several people with owls, with reinforcements sitting on stumps. I approached a gentleman with a large Indian eagle owl. Before I knew it, I was sporting a leather glove and a large fierce looking owl with captivating orange eyes, and a tufted head. The owner made me touch the owls talons and the pads on its feet, and then the thickness of the glove. An enthusiastic gentleman, he explained that the owl could go through that leather as if it were butter, and could crush cat's heads. After a few minutes I handed it back with a certain relief. Lorraine, Kate and I all looked at owls and stroked them. Barn owls are particularly downy and lovely to the touch, but have no natural oils in their feathers, so whe
Overlooked by Lucy Up early to finish the haemophilia website, then off to the quack following their letter summons. As a hypochondriac the less time brooding about what could be wrong, the better. This meant I had to see the scary doctor as opposed to usual one. Pleased to discover there was nothing much to worry about. Meanwhile Mum had gone to the hospital to discuss her post operative pain with her surgeon, and they have just upped the strength of her painkillers, which is not entirely satisfactory. Slipped out to the gym for a brief go on the hulk legs machine. But had to break off to attend to some business matters, and line up another spot of work for next week. Then went with Matt this afternoon to check out the Marlborough pub theatre for the doppelganger project. The young theatre manager is in Matt's choir, and seemed keen for us to try out the mini-opera there. I looked even more fondly on Matt than usual, as he is my passport to success when it comes to knowing people
Catbites Woken by Calliope biting my arm, as I had overslept. If I croaked suddenly my cat would happily snack on me. I was greatful however, as I was having a dream about some sort of growth coming out of my side like a disgusting cross between white tripe and a sea anemone. This thing was so repellent that it coloured my morning. At lunchtime a letter from the doctor's saying they needed to see me after a recent blood test, which naturally led to hypochondriac speculations. Good job I was writing a website about haemophilia to take my mind off medical matters. After five I went for a walk down to the sea and enjoyed watching the starlings swooping about in their synchronised flocks before roosting under the pier. Good to get some fresh air, but even this couldn't lift my mood. Below Calliope a couple of days ago, her face lit by a sunbeam. She frequently sits on my desk like this while I work.
Fudging it Up at Lorraine's house and after making her a cup of tea shuffled home to do some copy for a press ad. This done the day was my lobster to work creatively. Annoyingly I have been struggling for progress this week. So have agreed to do a couple of days work from home writing some non-creative website copy. Looking through my Penguin version of Timaeus and Critias by Plato as it contains the first mention of Atlantis in literature. I thought it was just a passing reference, but there is a surprising amount of material about it. I'm not particularly interested in the madcap theories about Atlantis, but Plato seems to have used it symbolically, although added lots of detail, so I'll take my steer from the great Greek. Dawn's birthday today, and I popped out in the evening to the Basketmakers, where I met Dawn, Lorraine, Beth and, for the first time, Dawn's daughter Ellie who after a gap year has just started college. Some present giving to Dawn. I got her a
Badly drawn boy Steady rain, and a better day working on my projects and some stuff for my French clients. The Atlantis poems beginning to adhere to one another, and may in fact be one large poem. Also found a new tonal approach for the Echoes story which feels much better. Matt came by at teatime and we went to see if we could have a look at the Nightingale theatre, just around the corner from me, where we may possibly stage the as yet unwritten Doppelganger piece. But we couldn't get into the theatre as it turns out the pub below and the theatre have nothing to do with one another. Call from Catriona in Guernsey about next May's Guernsey Literary Festival. I am being flown over, which makes me feel big and clever, and will be doing Skeleton based work with children on the morning of Friday the 13th, which is rather good, and then two or three poetry readings with Richard. In other news Salty returned home at 4.00am after a couple of days away with a large hunger on him. Mum
All starts and no finishes I'd earmarked today as a day for my own projects. I have lost momentum lately and lack clarity and focus. Nevertheless I progressed my Atlantis poems a little, and looked at the long short story called Echoes set in Guernsey. The Atlantis poems are intended to follow on from The Boy Who Fell Upwards . However simply could not build momentum, a hundred ideas started, none followed through. Argh. Lorraine called with a bit of urgent work on her form from hell, which is thankfully now dispatched. Spoke to Mum whose cat Salty has worryingly gone AWOL. Went to the gym, at noon. In the evening read more of The Maimed and then watched most of George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead , widely acclaimed as the best Zombie movie of all time. Annoyingly I was too tired to watch all of it, but it may have to be a DVD purchase. One of the characters says: "When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the Earth". I am increasingly attracted to Zombies.
Brownie points Finished the flatpack construction today. Actually rather satisfying to see a kitchen island standing complete on its wheeled feet, and knowing you have had a hand in it. The Croatian gentlemen took 1-2 hours to assemble it in the instruction leaflet, it took Lorraine and I over four hours, and this without any significant mistakes. Caught up on the abominably-watchable X-Factor, then back to my place to work on the final two questions in Lorraine's scary form. It is now almost complete thanks be to God. The form from hell taught me about what Lorraine does every day as an educational adviser, and the activities she describes add enormous value to how the educational resources of the county are deployed. All of this work of course under the shadow of the Government cuts. I earned about 900 brownie points this weekend from Lorraine, but at the end I had a persistent twitch in my left eye. Also in between trying to break into doors, assembling flatpacks, questions on e
Burgling Lorraine and I off to visit Dawn this morning in Lorraine's old street. Dawn is about to embark on a PhD about the meaning of life in postwar Britain, and to help finance this she is making space for a lodger, and so was giving Lorraine a table. As we managed the table's thick glass top down the stairs into a camper van Dawn had borrowed, and the door slammed locking us all out. Cue several essays at burglary, and involving various neighbours including JD, the French rock journalist who I have met several times, who tore himself away from being filmed in his house by a documentary TV crew, to spend half an hour attempting in a borderline obsessive way to force the lock with credit cards. Eventually Lorraine borrowed a long ladder from the people who had bought her old house, and the sparrowy Dawn shinned up this and disappeared into a firstfloor window. Once safely back at Lorraine's house with the table, Lorraine forced me to help her assemble a flatpack kitchen i
The Maimed Up early to get on with some French work, working out how to Anglicise a campaign which was full of French puns, jeu de mot and references into English. Something of an impossible task, but sent my best effort for this off at midday. Knee a bit on the puffy side and am hobbly, but enjoyed myself in the gym for half an hour or so. Afternoon and evening spent looking blankly at poems, flying over the Channel in a ME 109, and reading The Maimed by Hermann Ungar. Published in 1923. It is as others have pointed out a perfect companion to Die neue Sachlichkeit painters such as Otto Dix and George Grosz. An exhibition of Neue Sachlichkeit I saw in my teens made a lasting impression on me then. The Maimed is repulsively gripping. A post first world war society and its hero Pultz subject to an obsessive compulsive behaviour, an abused childhood, poverty, a fear of women and children, a sexual revulsion, and a cast of other characters who as physically and emotionally crippled. B
Full moon and foxes Woken up at an early hour by a crashing about and strange yelps in my front patch of garden. Calliope looking alarmed on the end of my bed. Leapt up as someone had recently kicked at some trellising. Imagine my surprise when I saw two urban* foxes on my doorstep. I lent out of my window clapping, and one made off through the, now clearly fox-made, hole in the trellising. I think the filthy beasts had the effrontery to be breeding too. On my doorstep. Needled three times this morning in an attempt to get blood. Nurse apologetic but kept on jabbin'. Luckily despite being a hysteric and a hypochondriac I seem to be okay about having blood taken. Then home working on my new poems for a bit before shooting off up to the smoke on a double mission. First off to the South Bank to drop of a brace of Guernsey Doubles into the National Poetry Library, and spend a couple of hours reading through the latest poetry magazines. Curiously heartened by the idea-free, emotionless
Cuts Glad to speak to Mum today as she was discharged from hosiptal, and pleased to be back home but understandably nervous the pain might return. I had a good morning working on my poetry. I have found a slightly different voice but do not trust it yet. Richard told me that he was writing again too in a new way. Publication has a purgative effect. Lunchtime spent watching the new Chancellor of the Exchequor deliver the Coalition Government's decision on where the axe should fall in British public spending, tax rises, loss of benefits etc. They raised the retirement age to 66 too. I can't help thinking of Osborne as Osborne the Odious. Depressing to see him and new Prime Minister Cameron, both of whom have inherited millions without lifting a finger, introducing swinging cuts on ordinary working folk. It was ever thus. New Labour leader Miliband at PMQs earlier depressingly out of his depth. I find much to loathe in the political class. A cool sunny day in Brighton today. I had
Celan in Neasden Mason has said mum is okay, and may be released tomorrow. Otherwise I had a better day today, making some poetic progress this morning. Listened to aprogramme on Radio 4 about the poet Paul Celan. I learned that he visited his Aunt in the in Mapesbury Road not far from Kilburn station in London. A small Peter Kenny lived in nearby Neasden in the late 60s, and I love the idea that the greatest poet of the 20th century might have walked down my street. Listening today to Debussy's La cathédrale engloutie (The Sunken Cathedral)which, along with Appolinaire's poem Ocean de terre is forming a sort of mood board for the poems I am trying to write. The Dubussy piece has gorgeous chords, suggesting submerged church bells. Went to the gym again, knee twinging but is so far holding up. Feeling good about it. The virtue of this offset by meeting Matt in the pub later on to discuss our doppelgänger mini-opera project. We ended up talking to a man called Roger, who Matt kn
Mum in hospital again Just sitting down gleefully to get on with some of my own writing when Mas called up to say that Mum was in hospital again. Put off my stroke by this. In the evening I spoke to him and he said they were hoping she would be home again in a day or so. I hope so. If not I will shoot back up to London to visit her. After spending hours staring at the screen, or reworking a story in a way that made it far worse, I went to the gym. Nice to be back there as paunch evil currently outranks knee evil. Then had a haircut and returned to faffed about ineffectually, diverted only by a card through the door from the police about an incident in the Twitten a couple of Saturday nights ago, when I had been snoozing happily in Lorraine's house. The Twitten is a magnet for ne'erdoewells. As I walked out to the postbox this afternoon, there was a woman a few yards away waiting to score. On returning I saw the dealer and the woman walking away briskly. They might as well be pa
Bad form Working with Lorraine for four hours on her headteacher application form. Not for nothing does Lorraine call it the scary monster form. Each question requires a mini-essay, and apparently this form is the most difficult part of the process of application. The completion instructions alone make your eyes bleed. If anything, Lorraine has too much evidence of her mad teachin' skillz. I always get enraged by the vacuity or inflexibility of the questions in forms. In a previous life I worked for an ill-starred year as a civil servant, and most of the work consisted in selecting the right form, and then filling it in. When I arrived, working on Widow's pension, the staff were so overworked, two of the section were absent having had nervous breakdowns. Meanwhile the head of the section spent his days reading the paper in his office. I was excellent at talking to grieving widows, but useless at filling in forms and I and Her Majesty's Civil Service parted company on exceed
Lurchers To the Basketmakers to meet Katie and Puffin the dog. Soon we were joined by Lorraine, Matt and Sam. The pub was busy, but it was great to meet up and have several beers and sustained chats. Katie looking for a new lurcher-friendly place to live, and is going to stay in the country. Matt just returned from Hull, where he was sitting up at night with his mum who has just had a knee replacement operation. Puffin meanwhile has the makings of a good pub dog: an essential development, and once Katie had put her jumper down on the floor for her, Puffin settled fairly happily under the table. It is fascinating to stroke her flanks and feel her xylophone ribs. As a lurcher she is such a lean running machine, there is not a scrap of fat on her. I drank rather enthusiastically and lurched home for some fish and chips. Later, as Lorraine blissfully snoozed, I watched a DVD by mighty prog rock legends Yes that Anton had given me the other night. All well.
Freewheeling Worked till 1:30 and then sent off my completed books to the accountant. This caused me to caper about the house with a song on my lips. Then I started to tidy the house, which was beginning to attract concerned social workers. Also had gossips with Richard and Jenny in Guernsey. Having selected the FW-190 I wasted the remainder of the afternoon in the skies over occupied Europe and shooting allied warplanes down on my Combat Flight Simulator 3 game. This enabled by the joystick Lorraine had bought me for my birthday. Later when Anton came around he had a go on it too. It was touching to witness a craze kindling in his eyes. He gave me some birthday presents and cards, I love seeing Klaudia's writing. We sloped off to have a couple of drinks while Anton talked excitedly about Combat Flight Simulator . The first pub we went to was staging a beer festival, which meant there were half a dozen middle aged blokes lurching about in it swigging beer from kegs, one of them kn
à Londres Up to the smoke this morning to visit my lovely French clients as Jeanne is leaving. Jeanne's replacement is Alexandra, a half French and half Russian woman. A rather extraordinary lunch with Alex and two frighteningly on the ball young women interns, Justine and Katerina (who is German). We were soon joined by Jeanne. We had wide-ranging and bizarre conversations, and I discovered that Alex is very funny, possessing strong opinions about the uselessness of jellyfish, the suicide rate in Normandy, and the tenets of Toltec civilisation. She crackles with an unpredictable energy when not gasping at cigarettes in an authentically French way. We had just settled down in Cafe Rouge and poured some wine when Justine, who was sitting opposite, knocked her glass of red over my best shirt. Apart from this, however, great fun and the promise of further involvement with the French ladies. Jeanne unable to discuss the details of her future, and was naturally slightly preoccupied. But
Birthday A cheerful birthday, with lots of texts, phonecalls, facebook messages, and even a few cards. Went off for a haircut, but the barbers was closed for refurbishment. Otherwise, after a spot of nice writing in the morning, spent the afternoon poring over my my books again. This involves filing away all my bills, receipts, and noting them down on spreadsheets. The only way to get through them is to focus in an obsessional Jack Nicholson in The Shining way. There is light at the end of the tunnel. In the evening went out with Lorraine who arrived with presents. Then off to scarf down some Japanese food at Murasaki's. We enjoyed glugs of warm sake, and getting into a splashy mess in our shared bowl failing to control long slithering udon noodles with chopsticks and spoons. All good fun.
By the book To the quack this morning, who is going to organise an MRI scan for my knee. Burst in trying to take off my trousers to show him my knee, but he wanted some background before that questionable delight. Sainsbury's next, feeling flashes of happiness. The afternoon catching up with my books to get everything ready for my accountant. There is something curiously satisfying about filling in all the columns and knowing exactly what's what. Below St Bartholomew's Church just down the hill from where I live, picked out in the morning sun. Arrested by the green of the glass with the blue of the sky.
A spell in the trees Lots of things have become clear to me in the last 48 hours. For example, exactly what needs to be done to Skelton Yawngrave to drastically improve it. Also an idea for a newspaper piece, and a general prioritisation of tasks. Jotted down these ideas quickly before going with Lorraine for a drive in the country. A beautiful cloudless Sunday. We were going of to Borde Hill, but ended up stopping by the side of a road near Balcombe and simply taking a walk. I soon realised I had been here before with Oskar and Anton, on Oskar's first walk. Old trees including some splendid old oaks in a damp wood. Squished through there to the Half Moon pub for a quick drink. As when I went there with Anton, a distinctly unsmiling lack of welcome, but it was nice to sit outside. Then back through the wood to the car, loving the low sun slanting through the trees like thin spotlights in the dark wood. Home and nothing remarkable happened, except that I went to my Marks and Sparks
Rugby knees Up at a decadent 11.00am. Belated muesli, then Lorraine and I shot off for spot of shopping in Brighton. This included speaking to a toweringly fit Gordie podiatrist called Tim about feet and knees. He told me to take my knee to the doctor, and that it is a typical ex-rugby player's knee. I nodded gravely as if to indicate that I had just, with great reluctance, retired from an international career, rather than just having scuffed about for my school team decades ago. Some hours later I returned home empty handed having tried on 800 sensible v-necked jumpers which all seem to be cut too short in the body. It would seem I have a vermiform back. In the evening off to Cathy's place for a dinner party. She had invited her friend Colin, who Lorraine had already told me was very like my pal Carl. Something about him was very Carl-like, he was funny in a Watsonish way, and he had similar mannerisms and so on. Colin however was a physics teacher, and we found we had lots of
Chilli Pickled Woke up to Calliope purring an inch away from my face at 6:45am. Decided to get up and get on with the French work to do. Bolstered by a note from Justine my client, which began Peter, Peter, Peter … You are THE guy who it is definitely pleasant to work with ! Her English usage is unfailingly charming. Worked hard all day, and had finished everything at four. Still feeling really buoyant after my walk on the cliffs. It has made an immense difference to how I feel about everything. Felt like the world was my lobster, and it was Friday and that meant seeing folks. Met Matt in the Basketmakers for a cheeky. He'd had a sucky week. He and Wayne are moving out of the flat, as it is unbelievably damp. Matt's computer died, and he had to pay a PC doctor £200 to salvage his music files from it. Then I went to the Batty where I met Anton and Anna, Lorraine and Beth. Really lovely evening, Beth going off after a while to see Mark, and the rest of us went to Chilli Pickle
On air with one engine Hung-over this morning. Up and an early breakfast, and gradually got my act together, after a harassing text from Jenny wrote a fast poem to be performed on her show at noon. Having done these and then packed, off to Icârt for a breath of air, chatting to Richard on my mobile in the little windswept lanes. A stunningly beautiful breezy morning, and Icârt looking heavenly. But little time for stopping and staring. Caught a bus into town and slunk into Le Petit Cafe, for another dose of good coffee. Then a cab to the BBC where I sat in reception with the lovely Joan Ozanne. We were soon joined by Richard and Lyndon Queripel. Shuffled into the studio at noon, which was full of sausage rolls and doughnuts brought by the previous guest. A bit of rather crap banter from me, then reading the slightly ghastly poem I'd misguidedly penned this morning, and then I read another person's poem and cleared off. You can hear us here from 2:36 . Then slunk out to be taken
A perfect day for Vogon poetry Woke to a perfect day. This is my favourite time of year, and today, a sunny October day in Guernsey was a perfect temperature for walking for four hours. (My knee hurty and slightly swollen, but holding up). First I took myself to the graveyard to put some flowers on my Grandparent's grave. After buying some yellow carnations I discovered that the bowl in the gravestone, made out of some sort of metal, had rusted so that the bottom dropped of as I picked it up. Spent some time in the graveyard. I like graveyards, not in a ghoulish way, but they are so peaceful. I shared out some of the flowers to others I knew who are buried there. I walked down to Moulin Huet and took the cliff path. It is difficult to describe just how beautiful this was. The cliffs are reddish in patches where the bracken is turning, and the sea its usual turquoise and Prussian blue, with cloud shadows passing over, a warm sun and a cooling breeze. And as I walked my fingers becam
Back to Guernsey Rushing about in the rain, with black bags of rubbish to the skip, and trying not to get cross with a random mad woman who told me that Calliope, who was waiting for me to return, wasn't happy and should be indoors. Flight to Guernsey was bumpy, the plane sandwiched between layers of cloud. Guernsey overcast and rainy when we arrived. I for one was grateful to touch down, despite the beautiful views of a grey and brooding Herm and Sark as we flew in. Met by Richard at the airport and we quickly repaired to the Farmhouse in his van with Rufus and Holly the dogs, for our now traditional fish and chips. As we were sipping our drinks and embarking on our gossipathon, Richard was called by a woman from Lexicon, one of the bookshops in St Peter Port having sold out of A Guernsey Double , and wanting more stock. This rather pleasing. Lovely chat with Richard along with the knife and forkwork. Pleased too that he understood my need for a bit of solitary cliff walking and
Back in the magic cafe Up and working on some long-postponed admin this morning. Also talking to a new lovely French client, and sorting out some bits for my Guernsey trip. Took myself for a walk today down by the sea and along the pier, amazed by the novelty of it not raining. And taking some snaps for the sake of it. Very still and the sea calm, a spot of sun here and there, but inland brooding clouds. On the way home, stopped at my magic cafe and worked on a new poem for a while, one of a sequence I am writing about Atlantis. They are coming with deceptive ease. In the evening crashed a girl's night out and went to The Duke of York's Picture House in Brighton to see Made in Dagenham with Lorraine, Jan, Dawn and Dawn's cousin Hannah. It was a cheerful film, and made you feel proud to be a woman. Back to Lorraine's house to eat the pork joint she was cooking, but as she left for the cinema, she had forgotten to put the meat in the oven. Instead we had an emergency t
Breakfast and the box Anna, Anton and the bairns called around this morning, the children racing to my skull and crossbones pirate box of sweeties as usual. This makes me think of Gwen my Grandmother, whose house was full of secret compartments and hideyholes from which treats would be drawn from time to time. Many of these treats hidden treats made their way into the house having accidentally fallen into my Grandfather's pockets when he worked in a warehouse, so was a good reason not to flaunt them. All off to breakfast in a new restaurant in Church Street. A certain art deco elegance, but the service was snailish. Nice to chat to Anna and Anton, and see my Godchildren. Anton delighted with his new role at work. The only thorn in his side is the difficult target his part of the business has to reach. Ironically this was a target he set last year while in a previous role. Anna, however feeling a little frustrated by a lack of time to push on with her projects. Oskar in his first te
Howling in the rain Rainy day. Spent the morning with Lorraine, who then got started on an interminable form to become a head teacher. After consoling, I left her to it and went home and tackled a backlog of laundry, oven cleaning and other matters which had slipped by the wayside. Also busied myself with another afternoon snooze. Knee less swollen today, which is good. I hope I am slowly clawing back towards feeling healthy again. In the evening Lorraine and I went out with Wayne and Matt. Not before Calliope had chased us down the Twitten howling her disapproval in the rain. It tugs my heartstrings when she does that appallingly bereft yowling. Met the boys in The Cricketers, which was being its usual venue for middle aged folk to behave badly. Arrived with wet trousers due to the rain, and a woman on the next table promptly knocked a glass of beer over me too. Then had a curry. (Seem to be living on the things at the moment. I love it.) We'd intended to go to the restaurant wher
Sleep sponge Woke up at 5 o'clock thanks to that foul MSG. Got up and worked for an hour, cleverly fed Calliope and on returning to bed was rewarded with an untroubled sleep in till ten. Also slept in the afternoon for over an hour. I am a sleep sponge. Bumped Doctor's appointment to Monday: but my knee is swollen and hurting, other joints aching and I feel ancient. I want to plop into one of those science fiction tanks full of a greenish gel and be attached to a bioengineered umbilicus. A few weeks later your broken body is pulled out of the gloop, and you find yourself renewed and improbably muscular. Then you are sent off to battle a race of huge warlike insects, and end up having your face injected by some disgusting ovipositor from the insect's body. Some hours later your comrades salvage your half-dead remains and you are returned to the gloop, but not before eggs have been scooped out in the nick of time from your head. Maybe the gel tank isn't the answer. Erm...