An empty court

Still gorgeous this morning, and unwillingly to work, whining at Lorraine in the car before she dropped me off. Into London without incident, and work fine despite straining at the leash to be outside. Sloped along the canals and other places at lunch. After work, looked at poems in the train. Some of my own, which I decided were unsavable, which is always freeing thing.  Really enjoying reading Bone Monkey by Janet Sutherland at the moment. I love her poems.

Home, and the air cooler by the time I reached Brighton. A salady dinner with Lorraine, and we found ourselves watching some kind of Eurovision song nonsense on TV for a while. An early and sensible night.

I found myself under the motorway in a crowded with schoolboys skateboard area and two empty basketball courts. I snapped one of the courts, below, and noticed later that someone had painted Fuck Basket Ball on the board, which spoke to me of some would be ball player's thwarted ambition.