under another sun

Slightly more energy today. A wee bit of writing, before Lorraine went off with her walking heads today, and Yvonne came around this morning, and drove us off to Newhaven in her mini car, where we had a cup of coffee on the Harbourside in the sunshine from a cafe called the Mamoosh Riverside. She told me in some detail about having had a splinter of glass in her eyeball, which had my toes curling. Lovely to see her however.  Once home, I wrote for a few hours till my still not fully functioning brain needed a break. Had a short walk down to the sea and popped into Morrisons momentarily.   Feeling suddenly antsy this evening, I walked Lorraine to her book group, and then bought a pint of Director's bitter in the Cinque Ports pub. Reading a book-length essay called  The Weird and the Eerie  by Mark Fisher, which was quite entertaining and discussed H.G.Wells's The Door in the Wall which is one of my favourite stories (and I have a poem loosely based on it in the Maris...

A day with Sue and John, scorchingly hot, and ending in big spots of rain, and thunder north of Birmingham.  Opted not to do anything arduous. I spent plenty of time reading in the back garden under a tree, Pascale Petit's Mama Amazonica, and also reading through a few copies of Supernatural Tales. Mysteriously, I managed to accumulate five thousand paces playing football with Whiskey in the back garden. The day hadn't begun well between us. She undid my laces as I came into the kitchen this morning, and bit my hands. However this little pup is a keen footballer, leaping over the ball and biting bits of surface of it while barking and leaping happily. Something unexpected was happening to me, I found myself positively liking this dog a great deal. I hadn't kicked a football in years, and this was great fun too, and I found myself dancing around the garden and laughing with the pup. Evening, Lorraine cooked curries supported by Sue her Sue chef, and we forked these down ...

Up early and free to work on my own stuff. Had the best morning's work I can remember. I got to grips with a poem I've been working on for ages currently called The door in the wall , based on the H.G. Wells story, and it really came together. After a while of this, I worked on on the opening to A Glass of Nothing . Feeling quietly elated by this progress. Physical energy however not so easy to come by, and by late afternoon after taking a stroll in the suddenly much colder weather, I needed a doze. The evening however fun. Met Jess and Andrew in the Shahi who are cheery company and easy going, chatting and forking down my traditional chicken tikka bhuna jaal with good cheer. Lorraine and I didn't have to cope with forgetting our keys this week, which was a great boon.  However once we got home, we heard about dreadful attacks in Paris, and watched the rolling news coverage on BBC news. Having popped over to Paris this year, and being pretty close to where the attacks h...

Small improvements today. I managed make it down the road to buy some bread, plus I hobbled in town to drop off a prescription after Lorraine had given me a lift, and even conducting a light spot of horny handed son of the soil gardening. Also discussing some work options that may be opening up for Lorraine. Working on a new poem based on the H.G. Wells story The door in the wall, which is working out quite promisingly. This is the story by Wells that I always remember, and I was reading on the internet that critics now are saying it was his best story. I'd tried to write one on this subject before, but this is a good deal better. And also re-editing the marketing book for kindle. But there is a lot to be done. Beth returned from her travels looking slightly brown and relaxed. She has a audition in London to look forward to next week. Gorgeous sunset views from our back garden.

Fasting bloods this morning, but my arrival wasn't announced so I waited in the waiting room, while the nurse waited for me elsewhere for 20 minutes. I'd missed the train I'd earmarked, but once aboard I employed the flask and scoffed lunchtime sarnies as I'd obviously not eaten. As the foggy world slipped by, I wrote the first draft of a poem, loosely based on The Door in the Wall by HG Wells. Having been booked for two more weeks I felt in a good position running up to my Guernsey visit. However as the day wore on it was clear there was no work for me to do. I was borrowed, enjoyably, by a sister agency in the same building for the afternoon, brainstorming with two excellent women creatives. This may prove to be fortuitous  In the evening, however, I was told I was not needed tomorrow. Normally this would have only been moderately galling, but by chance I turned down the offer of a month's work with a new client at lunchtime, and I have paid for the week's ...

Takeout Another night coughing and sweating. Ear only mildly painful now and leaking noxious things. This kind of illness makes me intolerably self-centred too, so I spent the morning lurking about sorting out a few bits around the house to make things look a little straighter when Lorraine returned. Also I completed a job for the agency at home. Also chatted to Mum and Mas. Really looking forward to a time when I am not continually soaked with sweat. Recieved a post operative text from Bob yesterday: Survived. He is having a big cartilage sort out in his knee. Beth up at lunchtime after a night of mad dancing, with all her reunited pals. Sam joined them too, and it's not every brother and sister who enjoy partying together. The man came around to replace the glass in the front door so now the catflap is correctly positioned. After a lunch of an apple and a corn on the cob I went back to bed. This evening was Beth's last evening and Sam came around and we scarfed Chinese takeou...

Strolling Calliope woke me very early this morning and I got up if only to retrieve the two pairs of balled socks she had transferred overnight from my sock draw to the sofa downstairs. I put this cat-induced start to good use, and pushed on with the second draft. The first draft is just a blurt, and for me the second trawl through is where you turn it into something which seems to be a story. This followed by protracted and therapeutic ironing. With still-rigid neck, I opted not to go to the gym, but instead had a two hour walk late in the sunshine of the afternoon. Sauntered along the seafront and then up above the sheer bit behind the marina. Noticed You are not alone signs with telephone numbers for The Samaritans, so I guess a few have quietly chucked themselves from it. I did not take a camera, nor an iPod and actually found this pure thinking time very useful, walking along in a world of my own listening to the jukebox in my head. A quiet and blameless night indoors. Read yet a...

Two days in one Worked a proper self-employed 15 hours. Infomedia booths to begin with, and then had to use my loaf on the French bread project. Working from home however makes it fine and entirely do-able. Managed miraculously to do my back in without moving. Got up, had some tea and breakfast sat down at my desk on my new comfortable chair, and two hours went to stand up again, and could hardly move. Crept Igor-like off to a coffee shop to work in the afternoon for a change of scene. Otherwise spoke to Anton, and to Mum who is sounding bright and cheery today, and at length this evening to the Cat with the Hat, and Lorraine. The good news is that after tomorrow I should have less to do, and will have a chance to do some of my own stuff, which will be splendid now that I don't feel queasy and weird. Below I had some interesting correspondence with Chris Allen, who is also obsessed with this door into nothing on the Icart road. Here's a snap of it I took the other day, and an...

The door in the wall Strange post migraine washed out feeling today, but certainly better than last night. Work tolerable. Our IT sluggish today. Andrew, who sits opposite me, was on the phone to the helpdesk as his computer didn't appear to be starting. The IT guy said: Hold on. Let me wave my magic wand. There must be a bit of purgatory, ringed by perpetually crashing servers, for IT smartasses. Today finished listening to the HG Wells short stories on my iPod. The story called The Door in the Wall still my favourite. It is one of those stories that haunts you, as indeed the central character, an important politician, is haunted by a green door in a wall. He sees the door in various locations in his life but fails to pass through it again as he did once as a small child. Through it was a magical with fantastic creatures, and playmates, and his dead mother and so on... It is a garden from which he is exiled all his life and it haunts him. What is the garden? Is it death? Or a ki...