under another sun

A comparatively wonderful night's sleep. Woke up having slept like a log, and accompanied by cats. Got up and bought some bread and bacon from around the corner, and made breakfast and took it up to Lorraine. Gradually got up and unpacked our case full of dirty clothes. Spoke to Mum and Mas this morning, they showed me the new rail in the garden outside, a big improvement. They seemed fairly cheery, and were off to meet Robert at lunchtime. I also spoke to Ben who called by.   Utterly rainy again. Reminding me of the year that Romy stayed with us in Brighton, and it rained harder and more often than I had ever seen it. In the afternoon we walked down to The Beirhaus pub where we met Anton, free at last after serial self-isolations. He has mostly been bored and working really hard. Had a few cheeky German beers and hot dogs with German mustard and sauerkraut and caught up on the news. Then to the Fountainhead for a bit more to eat and a game of euchre. We had some veggie stuff, but ...

A poor night's sleep and Lorraine up at a woeful 6:10. The lovely woman brought me a cup of tea before she left for work and I struggled up soon after. A residual start of year anxiety. I don't know why. I managed to spend most to the day filing, and contacting the accountant's office and paying tax, and I wrote to Tracey.  Also looked at a poem I was tinkering with before Christmas and decided it was poor. This at least saves time. I walked to the gym at lunchtime, and spoke to mum while on the cross trainer. Stopped after half an hour feeling half dead, and walked home again rather slowly. Tinkered with bits of work, watched part of a Beckett play, Endgame, on YouTube. Spoke to Mum, cooked spaghetti and got food ready for Lorraine when she came home, having survived the day. One of her colleagues had lots of chocolate given to her for Christmas, and she took it home and  put it under the tree. Her dog then ate it all, and she then had to take it to the vets costing...

Pies and Pride My larder (aka the station Marks & Spencers) had rearranged itself this weekend. The big deep refrigerator which normally houses cheese and milk and a variety of chilled products was given over to pink champagne. For it was Pride weekend. At lunchtime Lorraine and I sauntered down to the bottom of Trafalgar Street to see the parade pass by in the rain. I actually found myself quite moved by it: everyone was smiling and it was a very happy occasion. The fact that the Pride march is such a part of Brighton life and so widely supported is a cause for celebration. People since the dawn of time have moaned that things are getting worse. But I think a society where the gay police officers association leads the parade is a much better and saner than it used to be. Nothing like watching a parade of gaudy colours to get your appetite up, so Lorraine and I went off to eat pie and mash and peas in Pokeno pies. Then after a few cups of tea at home, did a little work in the aft...

Pride of Brighton It may have rained on the parade, but today's Pride parade was great fun. Full of joie de vivre and colour. And the fact that the local police force led the parade was cool!

Zaffrani and skellys Spent Friday back with my skeleton story, which seems easy and much less intense than working on the poems. I have missed thinking about Skelton Yawngrave. The poems and this story come from entirely different sub-personalities, and you'd be hard pressed to say that they were written by the same person. Arranged for a yearly check up at my doctors next week. As a hypochondriac the prospect of this is appalling. I'd rather eat a cactus. Also arranged for an eye test as I am fretting about my eyes. Sigh. The thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. In the afternoon broke off for a swim. The pool was stuffed full of people including several larger dugong-like gentlemen like me. However I persisted for half an hour or so, nosing hopefully for seagrasses, and felt fairly good for it. Brighton exuberant this evening as Lorraine and I walked through the streets, as this is the Pride weekend. For us however, the now traditional Cricketers & curry combo. ...

Rolling up the trouserlegs Up at seven, and a spot of admin and payment chasing, and writing for a few hours before Toby surfaced, enticed by a cup of tea. As Toby groggily regrouped, I went off for a haircut, where I mentioned that my brother was over from Canada. The hairdresser quizzed me as to whether he had come over for the Pride parade in Brighton this weekend. Saying that he hadn't, made me feel curiously homophobic. So I had to add perhaps over-eagerly that I for one would certianly be enjoying the parade, which wasn't quite right either. A few nasty moments this morning having discovered I no longer had my manbag and, much more importantly, my camera. I called Zizzi and after describing its ink-stains, was told they had it. Returned home fully manbagged again, Toby showed me his excellent Argentinian photos. Some beautiful images. Then I went for a massage, which was free - having introduced Lorraine to my back crackers. I had a huge knot in my shoulders apparently,...