Strange Journey

Reading my copy of Strange Journey on the train this morning. This the new book by Richard, which has turned out very well. Nice black and white jacket, with himself as a child on the front cover, and on the reverse as he is now. The poems excellent too and I will write more fully about the poetry on my notebook blog. Even the poetry-phobic First Matie, who I'm now sitting next to in the agency, found herself engaged. I will be uploading information on how to get your hands on a copy shortly, and you would be mad not to. Richard did a launch reading today and texted me to say that it had gone well. Wish I'd been in Guernsey to see it.

Up to work again. Last week's lively weekend away had blurred the last two weeks together into one megaweek, and I am running on empty. Almost as tired as the folks in the agency who had worked on a pitch till midnight the day before. A pleasant enough day, however, finished off by the French Bloke quaffing some bubbly with the agency, as he is on leave before his marriage next weekend.

Home at last, and happy to be there. Rather brain dead on my arrival, but Lorraine and I sloped off to the Shahi for a tired but happy meal before returning to slump on the gold sofa. Seems like ages since we had time to chat. 

Feeling cheery, as the Kenny coffers, lately home to tumbleweed, crows and a keening wind, will soon benefit from an influx of doubloons. The freelance work I have been doing since returning from Samos has been consistent. I have more work next week too. Feel as if malign log-jamming stars have shifted.  

Below Strange Journey fore and aft.