under another sun

Sunday a much-needed recuperation day on the gold sofa. As I have been feeling unwell it was a real boon. Lorraine at last with a Sunday that she didn't have to spend working. Instead she stubbed her little toe so hard that it audibly cracked and her foot is bruised, and she has almost certainly fractured it. An event which brought out the stoic ex-nurse in her, who said all that could be done for it was to be buddy strapped. Found myself reading about string theory online, I can't say I'm much the wiser. It seems to be one of those things where the Venn diagram of physics and what seems common sense do not overlap. I am considering the purchase of String Theory for Dummies.  Also reading more of A Loop of Jade by Sarah Howe. A curate's egg, but when she's good she is very good.

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 ...