Bookish in the sunshine

What a scorcher. I worked this morning on poems and sent a mad brain jazz idea to Robin, and proofed a couple of poems going out in a magazine called Cerasus -- only the second edition, and I was surprised by its excellence when I saw the draft pdf.  Had a chat with Mum too. 

When Lorraine came back from her trainer,  I painted varnish on two external surfaces. Then we spent the afternoon outside, I read my book Metaphors of Memory, by Douwe Draaisma, which is as its subtitle says is A history of ideas about the mind. I have been reading this for perhaps two years now, and still haven't finished. But it is absolutely central to the stuff that preoccupies me at the moment. Also Dandelion Wine, by Ray Bradbury. I read this years ago -- but decided to revisit it, principally because it is so nostalgic and autobiographical, I want to delve more into its technique. In the introduction he writes that at an early stage of his writing, he taped the phrase don't think where he worked -- and talks about getting started by a sort of word association. 

Lorraine did quite a bit of gardening too when it got cooler. We also watched England play football. It was dire. They all have the joy sucked out of them. God alone knows what has happened.

Finished bedtime book Prince Caspian, tonight.