under another sun

Poetic surgery Up lateish, and strangely anxious about meeting Brendan Cleary today. What if he thought all my poems were dire? Spoke to Mum about skeletons, then was picked up by Lorraine who had Maureen and Pat, her parents, with her. Lorraine drove us down to the seaside to have a pleasant chatty lunch in the sun at The Meeting Place cafe. I had a cheese and ham toastie, (but was careful not to go mixin' ma toasties seeing what that does to rabbits). We then wandered down to the pebbles and Pat and Maureen bask in the sun, and were dozing happily. As I had to go, Lorraine walked with me along the seafront, being generally reassuring as I was feeling twitchy again. I'd sent Brendan my poems after arranging for a poetry surgery through The South. I was trying not to feel too much like I'd done an exam and was going to get the results. It turned out however to be a very useful process indeed, and I was delighted with our conversation. His comments were very astute and extre...

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,...