Christmas commences
Awake most of the night. Got up and read for a couple of hours before returning to bed. Was reading Richard's poems in A Guernsey Double again, they give me pleasure every time I do so. Received our third Amazon Purchase Order of the week this evening. Slowly but surely the book is selling beyond Guernsey.
In the morning worked for an hour on my new Atlantis poem, while Lorraine snoozed the snooze of the virtuous. Then I ambled about reassembling my artificial Christmas tree with multicoloured lights and cat-enticing tinsel and baubles. Calliope squirming into boxes and leaping at the tree with wild-eyed delight.
Sometimes my eyes greedily suck at a certain colour. When I worked at IBM at South Bank I craved the bright red in an abstract painting in the beige carpeted concrete stairwell. I would have to stop some days and drink in its redness, despite not liking the picture much. Now I'm hooked on the blue Christmas lights in North Street in Brighton, and the two or three electric blue lights on my Christmas tree. They have a touch of violet too, which seems to hint at the mystical. Late at night I was looking at the tree in my darkened room, and felt my Christmas spirit stealthily begin.
In the afternoon while still light, and before the penguins, polar bears etc. reclaimed the streets, Lorraine and I conducted a hard pruning of my roses, which proved the epitome of a restful Sunday activity.
Awake most of the night. Got up and read for a couple of hours before returning to bed. Was reading Richard's poems in A Guernsey Double again, they give me pleasure every time I do so. Received our third Amazon Purchase Order of the week this evening. Slowly but surely the book is selling beyond Guernsey.
In the morning worked for an hour on my new Atlantis poem, while Lorraine snoozed the snooze of the virtuous. Then I ambled about reassembling my artificial Christmas tree with multicoloured lights and cat-enticing tinsel and baubles. Calliope squirming into boxes and leaping at the tree with wild-eyed delight.
Sometimes my eyes greedily suck at a certain colour. When I worked at IBM at South Bank I craved the bright red in an abstract painting in the beige carpeted concrete stairwell. I would have to stop some days and drink in its redness, despite not liking the picture much. Now I'm hooked on the blue Christmas lights in North Street in Brighton, and the two or three electric blue lights on my Christmas tree. They have a touch of violet too, which seems to hint at the mystical. Late at night I was looking at the tree in my darkened room, and felt my Christmas spirit stealthily begin.
In the afternoon while still light, and before the penguins, polar bears etc. reclaimed the streets, Lorraine and I conducted a hard pruning of my roses, which proved the epitome of a restful Sunday activity.
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Having snow starting in November helps, but I love Christmas and everything about it, except perhaps for the shopping...