Stern triage

Little to report. Feeling a wussy and sore throaty, but otherwise in good spirits, still luxuriating in being able to work on my own stuff, although the spectre of having to stoke up the Kenny coffers is beginning to loom. I am organising my poems, of which there are an inordinate amount, and trying to see the wood for the trees. I have dozens of incomplete poems. Some of them are incomplete because they are poor, others are incomplete but with promise. I am conducting a kind of stern triage on each one. 

Feeling a bit monastically disciplined today. Betty phoned for a chat, and said that she had recovered from her trip to Ely, where the call time was four stupid in the morning. Now happy to be home in the new flat. Otherwise, I looked forward to Lorraine coming home, and cooked for us.