under another sun

Another day of copyslogging. I've never had the experience of writing so much based on a short lived experience (going to Chad) before. Every day I am in one way or another having to relive the the things I learned there. Making me think how ghastly post-traumatic stress disorder must be. For me Chad was benign, but I learned the other day that the area we visited will, this spring, be classified as subject to extreme hunger trending towards starvation. Having met some who this will fate will fall on, it is a very hard thing to think about. A much needed jolt of positive feedback on a couple of things I'd written today from the client via Matty. In a short lull between jobs I had another walk. It being such a bright and clear day that it seemed mad not to. Walked up my road to the top of the hill, then took a long circular route home again. It's good for mental clarity to be able to glimpse the downs and the distant sea reflecting the low sun. Beth at home today, record...

A tap on the door at eight and I had forgotten that Cass had come around again to build a few wee shelves in my office, so had to work downstairs. Cass whistling Life on Mars by David Bowie. However off to Chiswick a bit later, quite enjoying a bit of a commute. Managed to pop into Waterstones and using the present of a Waterstones card I'd been given, I bought poetry books by Claudia Rankine, Sarah Howe and Don Patterson. Then into a room to work with Dave the art director on a welcome pack. On the train home I read Don Paterson's  40 Sonnets . Not much time to do anything other than work, or exist under the shadow of work. Interesting things like poems and books and all the other stuff I want to think about seem incredibly vivid and out of reach edge. Beth had cooked a healthy supper as I was late and Lorraine was doing her Pilates.  My new shelves are great. Enjoyed rearranging my study before bed, listening to Station to Station , one of the Bowie albums I liked most...

Up late, after sitting in bed with Lorraine and working on a letter she needs to send out to parents. Then up and my lovely wife cooked a sunday roast chicken for lunch. Then I was collected by Robin and we drove up to the South Bank this afternoon to attend the TS Eliot awards shortlist reading at the South Bank - which is the biggest poetry reading on the year's calendar and features readings from the cream of the crop of last year's poetry publications. Robin's car on its last legs, and about to be replaced by one big enough to take Nick's keyboard, a heavy organ. The motorway blocked by an accident so it took us quite a while to get there. But we'd set out early, so there was plenty of time. A brilliant way to get a snapshot of what's happening in poetry. Most interesting of the eight finalists to me were Claudia Rankine and Sarah Howe. Claudia read a long poem about identity, saying something like we should consider ourselves architects of the personal ...