Beaming

Continuing to feel greatly bucked up, and looking forward to the day when I woke up. After breakfast, I helped Lorraine take an unused cot into the Climate Hub in the rain. Having done this I made off towards Morrisons, only to discern Lorraine yelping from afar as I inexplicably had her car keys in my pocket. 

Home and with great care, proofread the six pages of my poems appearing in Poetry Salzburg Review next year. I added a single comma, and Wolfgang the editor had spotted a misspelling in a neologism, which is impressive. All this exactly the sort of thing a gentleman of letters should be doing with his time. I briefly pictured myself as an Edwardian Peter Kenny -- let's say 1908 -- poring keenly over the proofs while puffing thoughtfully on a briar pipe, while the staff were busy below stairs. 

A bright lunchtime in a day of drizzle, so I wore my new Berghaus and waterproof trousers and walking shoes and surged out for a mild mannered walk about the edges of town. Not a drop of rain. Very muddy on the edges of fields, however, so I stuck mostly to pavements. I have been listening to some podcasts about Lord Byron on The Rest is History. A chaotic life with him busily hurting the people he cared about most. Career wise, he was an overnight success when his first collection Childe Harold's Pilgrimage  published.

In the afternoon, Beth and her pal Lucy, armed with babies, made baby footprint and handprint objects in clay in the kitchen with Lorraine. Quite a lively scene in the kitchen, but still in Edwardian mode, I repaired to the living room and read translations of poems by Goethe but couldn't get on with them at all.    

More Stranger Things tonight. Lorraine in full binge mode and we watched three episodes. It is very good, but you can see how borrowings from ET or Twin Peaks or Close Encounters have been sellotaped together.

The beautiful beaming boy. Photo by Beth.