Wat Tyler?

Waiting for Alex the tiler who did not come today. In my mind I changed his name to Wat Tyler. Also chasing the plumber, who doesn't return my calls. Time-consuming and frustrating which, despite my best efforts, puts me into a bad mood. This not at all helpful for writing, although I did manage to fix some of the damage I had done to three new poems by reverting to their earlier versions, and I also cut the hedge. And did some reading. It's come to something when these things feel like your only accomplishments of the day.

I have had a golden opportunity to write, since we returned from Spain, but on most days I've been disrupted, if not by noise and people, by having to wait at home for people who don't arrive.

Lorraine working late tonight. I watched some TV, a documentary about Joan Didion on Netflix. I read her book about her bereavement, A Year of Magical Thinking, which I was a bit so-so about, but the documentary made me want to reconsider her. Tom arrived late tonight too. Early to bed.