No wife, no cats
So up with Lorraine this morning, and waved her off not to see her for the rest of the week. She is going to the Isle of Wight today with a couple of dozen children in a coach and a boat.
So left to my own devices this week. Certain photos taken of me last week at the poetry reading I went to, cropped up on Facebook. In these photos I look a bit like Friar Tuck. I began a two-pronged attack on this, going to the barbers late this morning to make sure the ratio of gleaming pate to hair was a bit less medieval. Then to the gym for the first time in ages, for a mild mannered half an hour on the cross trainer. From there to the non-ideologically sound Starbucks, where I worked for a bit on my laptop, before sauntering off to The Marwood where I had arranged to meet Catherine and Alex, as I thought they should meet as they have much in common. Nice to drink even coffee and chat with them for a couple of hours about all kinds of things.
Then home, where I did a bit more work. I am simply focusing on poems at the moment, but it is slow work. Cooked myself a small but muscular chicken curry, and wrote to my old pal Tracey in California before going to bed. Going to bed without Lorraine felt unpleasant. Weirdly the cats, normally mobbing our bedroom, decided to boycott it completely. I slept alone, wifeless and catless. Or more accurately I did not sleep. Some trifling matter about rescheduling the poetry reading I am supposed to do at the end of the moth, to 2019 was playing on my mind, and eventually I got up at 3 am, made a cup of chamomile and did some email, before finally dozing off, rather missing Lorraine.
So left to my own devices this week. Certain photos taken of me last week at the poetry reading I went to, cropped up on Facebook. In these photos I look a bit like Friar Tuck. I began a two-pronged attack on this, going to the barbers late this morning to make sure the ratio of gleaming pate to hair was a bit less medieval. Then to the gym for the first time in ages, for a mild mannered half an hour on the cross trainer. From there to the non-ideologically sound Starbucks, where I worked for a bit on my laptop, before sauntering off to The Marwood where I had arranged to meet Catherine and Alex, as I thought they should meet as they have much in common. Nice to drink even coffee and chat with them for a couple of hours about all kinds of things.
Then home, where I did a bit more work. I am simply focusing on poems at the moment, but it is slow work. Cooked myself a small but muscular chicken curry, and wrote to my old pal Tracey in California before going to bed. Going to bed without Lorraine felt unpleasant. Weirdly the cats, normally mobbing our bedroom, decided to boycott it completely. I slept alone, wifeless and catless. Or more accurately I did not sleep. Some trifling matter about rescheduling the poetry reading I am supposed to do at the end of the moth, to 2019 was playing on my mind, and eventually I got up at 3 am, made a cup of chamomile and did some email, before finally dozing off, rather missing Lorraine.
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