An afternoon in the Evening Star

Up late, and a hearty breakfast. Called Mum for a cheery chat. Lorraine and I mooching about in Seaford to pop into The Crypt to see an exhibition of works by folks in the Seaford Art club. A fairly decent standard. We spoke to Palo Almond who seems a lovely smily woman, whose work we like. 

Kissed Lorraine and walked through the churchyard to head to the station. Had one of those moments of unexpected happiness. I like living here. 

To Brighton to meet Anton for a cheeky afternoon beer. I worked at some poems on train and then scuttled through the rain to the Battle of Trafalgar where there was a bizarrely dressed stag do, lots of spangly cowboy stuff, including a beefy guy in a black hat who towered over me at the bar. 

Anton arrived, but it was noisy due to noisy boys, so we sauntered in the rain down to the Evening Star, where I went unmolested, enjoyed good beer and played several games of highly contested bones with Anton, played on a bakelite made in the USSR in 1960. Saw lots of photos of his recent time away, a long walk with his knee holding up, plus a mind boggling photo of Oskar sitting in a meeting room in IBM having done some work experience there. He is doing well in his studies, and was also well liked by the monolith -- and may be invited to work there part time when he goes to college. Amazing. Klaudia meanwhile I hear is off in Poland, referred to by her as the motherland, and travelling through Europe having recently returned from the far east.  

A persistent drizzle much welcomed in Kenny Farm this afternoon. Home for dinner of a fisherman's pie, made by my lovely wife. All well. 

Anton and inside the Evening Star.