The new Friday
Missed my usual train, and got on a standing room only one. Miraculously, a space opened up and I was able to work on poems very well.
Arrived at work and after a while it became clear there was nothing for me to do. Robbie was there today, and I had a quick chat where he managed to say that poetry was not proper writing, and that stained glass was just the kind of tat you get in gift shops. I left him to his own devices.
I quietly worked on a poem for a bit, which I am very pleased with, and then was told I could go home at 1pm. I agreed, and had arranged to meet Mark Dawson for lunch. However, at ten to one, I was given an urgent and particularly tiresome cross-referencing-100-page-documents-kind-of-job which meant I had to work through lunch until four. Was also told that the work I'd done earlier in the week had gone down very well with the client, so my stock remains good, and that there will be lots for me to do next week.
Then I left early, and came straight home. However, amazingly, I got on the circle line train which was not even half full, and sat across two seats so engrossed in my book, that I failed to notice a few more folks getting on at the next stop. One of them, a burly Scottish workman literally shouted at me to free the seat (there being plenty of other seats around), I couldn't help but laugh at him, which made him even more aggressive. I told him to calm down, which to his credit he did. That's two fighty men in two days on the Circle line. Very odd.
The rest of the journey uneventful. Walked back from Brighton station, and feeling cheery at being away from the Smoke, and delighted that Thursday is the new Friday. Read some of the later Robert Lowell poems, which I find less strong.
Lorraine in the gym for a swym. Meanwhile, I weighed myself and I am still losing weight, which is A Good Thing. Cooked, and watched TV with my lovely wifey. An early night.
Arrived at work and after a while it became clear there was nothing for me to do. Robbie was there today, and I had a quick chat where he managed to say that poetry was not proper writing, and that stained glass was just the kind of tat you get in gift shops. I left him to his own devices.
I quietly worked on a poem for a bit, which I am very pleased with, and then was told I could go home at 1pm. I agreed, and had arranged to meet Mark Dawson for lunch. However, at ten to one, I was given an urgent and particularly tiresome cross-referencing-100-page-documents-kind-of-job which meant I had to work through lunch until four. Was also told that the work I'd done earlier in the week had gone down very well with the client, so my stock remains good, and that there will be lots for me to do next week.
Then I left early, and came straight home. However, amazingly, I got on the circle line train which was not even half full, and sat across two seats so engrossed in my book, that I failed to notice a few more folks getting on at the next stop. One of them, a burly Scottish workman literally shouted at me to free the seat (there being plenty of other seats around), I couldn't help but laugh at him, which made him even more aggressive. I told him to calm down, which to his credit he did. That's two fighty men in two days on the Circle line. Very odd.
The rest of the journey uneventful. Walked back from Brighton station, and feeling cheery at being away from the Smoke, and delighted that Thursday is the new Friday. Read some of the later Robert Lowell poems, which I find less strong.
Lorraine in the gym for a swym. Meanwhile, I weighed myself and I am still losing weight, which is A Good Thing. Cooked, and watched TV with my lovely wifey. An early night.
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