A spot of lunchtime sanity

Up early and working for a while, before sloping off into town, where I bought shoe laces, dust masks for scraping walls, and went to the bank. After this I had a quick coffee in the Marwood cafe. It was regrettably full of posturing arty types doing some kind of quick and grubby photoshoot, as if it were the most important thing in the world. Bah, I thought, Old fogeyishly. Then off to meet Catherine at The Bath Arms for lunch. A pint of beer, some grub and a long chat. Catherine is so intelligent and sane, I always feel braced and perked up by her company, and that I can say almost anything to her.

I also spoke to Rosie about our forthcoming birthdays, which as they are only a day apart we are going to have a mutual drink in a pub with our many mutual chums on Saturday night.

Still no real energy. I start off the day full of hope and cheer, but by mid afternoon feel tied, and achey, which makes me feel glum. It feels like there are million things to do, but I just have no oomph. This should be brilliant opportunity of course to write poems. I want to make the most of this time.  I am confronted by my limitations and it is like pulling out hen's teeth. As Keats said something like... Poetry should come as naturally as leaves to a tree, or not at all. Perhaps my version should be that it comes as naturally and surprisingly as mushrooms.

I had a nice chat with Mum, however, as Ben had fixed their long running telephone problems. Ben is an angel.

In the evening, I rallied magnificently, and cooked a strangely good vegetable surprise for Lorraine when she got home from pilates.