under another sun

FaceTime with Toby this evening, who was striding about in sunny Chicago and telling me how everyone was after Ethan's untimely death. A tremendously sad business, as Ethan had touched the lives of an amazing number of people in the school he taught in, and in his community. He was very well known and will be missed. It seems, however, that he died peacefully in his sleep, which of all the ways to go, is probably the best. Also spoke to Mum who said Betty in Guernsey was now being looked after full time in a hospice. It was good she got to spend some time with her when we were last over.  Mum sad about this, having had a string of unpleasant news this year. In lesser news, my ankle became excruciatingly painful to step on, and throbbed painfully. Not the weekend I had planned and as a consequence spent much of the day in bed, unable to help Lorraine  do things to prepare the house for sale, and then making a delicious chicken, olives and lemon tagine supper and a  tar...

Poor start to the day. Painful ankle and foot, left my wallet in the house, and even when Lorraine kindly drove me to the station I missed my train by seconds. When I at last arrived it was a typical agency Friday, i.e. ramping up to a frenzy to get everything done for the week. Ankle poor, and hobbling painfully. Constantly interrupted from one lot of urgent, if ill-defined, work by someone trying to sort out an even less well defined job. Heartily pleased to be heading off at the end of the day. And tonight I sauntered down to The Salisbury where I met my lovely Lorraine and Betty who had a day out shopping together. Felt strange and nice to meet them in this old haunt of my London days. Had  a fast drink in there before repairing next door to the Coward Theatre where we saw a play called Good People, starring Imelda Staunton, who I like a lot. Enjoyed the experience, but felt quite critical of the play and how it was staged. The first half was very static, and made you notic...

A bad night's sleep. However off bright and early to work, fiddling with new poems on the train. Before rat-racing through Victoria. There is always a big slow crowd waiting to get through the ticket barriers in the morning, and there is something dehumanising about this needless funnelling.  However I have been taking a bus which gets me close to where I work, and this is rather nice. I feel like a sightseer. Work fine, and some pleasant conversations. Everyone is so young there I feel like a bit of a dinosaur, but at the same time I seem to be a dinosaur with stuff they don't know so I find myself feeling vaguely valued, which is nice. In the evening, and home to my Lorraine, I managed to get two new poems printed to send off to a poetry competition, posting deadline tomorrow, just doing this one thing for myself felt like a minor triumph. Below the usual Dantesque bottleneck at Victoria.

Feeling dog tired this morning as being overtired the night before I'd not slept well.  Worked on poetry on the way up to London, and the whole day a bit of a slog as a consequence, even though the people are fine and the job is interesting. The office stuffy and hot, and I had to drink strong coffee to stay awake. Found I had left my wallet at home so had to scrounge some sandwich money at lunchtime. Left work in good time, but Victoria station was hellish, and the journey took three hours as there was someone under a train on the network. As I had no wallet couldn't buy a tea or anything.  Eventually arrived home, but Lorraine out and I realised I had also left my keys indoors, luckily Mark next door had some spare ones. Lorraine had cooked a delicious chicken stew however, and I ate this food cooked with love before she returned, the best part of the day.

A tiring day, writing poetry first thing, then Lorraine and I working hard, taking lots of stuff off to the dump, and to  charity shops, and moving things around.  The house now extremely uncluttered and far more sellable, apart from the rats Brian is all too frequently bringing in. In the evening off to buy a train ticket, feed Anton's cats, and then Lorraine and I went to the Kommedia to see a film called The Wind Rises by Hayao Miyazaki. A beautiful animated story based on the life of Jiro Horikoshi, who designed planes including what became the famous Mitsubishi Zero. Walked home, dog tired, and late but pleased to have seen this moving and beautiful film, which made Lorraine want to go back to Japan.

A rather quiet day of not carrying boxes and so on. Lorraine, Beth and I lurked about. I finished a poster for Beth's latest play. I seem to have bluffed my way through doing quite a few posters in recent years.

All up early and yawny this morning, as Lorraine and I had stayed up all hours (watching the film Bend it like Beckham) ready for the great 'house-poo' purging the house of clutter that might interfere with a house sale. Breakfast with Betty and Mum all sitting about chatting, then Lorraine, Betty and I loaded up the van, and Mum made off to Janet's house to do Open House business. A nice drive off to Kent, with no van aberrations this time, followed by unloading at the other end, speeded by Pete and Pat. Lorraine, Pat and I were just mooching about looking at flowers in the garden when Maureen shouted for everyone. Lorraine's cousin Kay, who l've not met but lives not too far away had cut her finger off. Beth, Maureen and I were left behind as everyone else drove off to her house and to take her to the hospital. Maureen, who'd taken the call, needing a glass of wine afterwards to calm down. Beth, Maureen and I had quite a good chat afterwards about various ...

A busy Saturday, a large breakfast. Beth off first thing to Rodean school for dramatic reasons. Lorraine and I organising the house in preparation for the house-poo tomorrow. Mum arrived early this afternoon, in torrential rain. We picked her up from the station. Lots of chats with her, and some wondering about in some local art houses too. Sat in the garden of one house drinking tea, which was nice. This is the last weekend, and you get the sense that the various artists are longing for it to be over.  A quiet night in, watching Wallender , and eating a rather delicious chicken stew.

Woke up shortly after six this morning with a poem in my head, and simply got up and wrote it. An absolute rarity when something arrives fully formed.  It's working title is 'My notebook has black pages' and is a bit wild and uninhibited in a Dylan Thomasish way I suppose, having yesterday watched a drama about him.  I had written it before 8:30am and, having completed it, felt as if my day's work was done before it had even started. Lots of work to be done, however, and I am trying to get my social media presence up to scratch and am working on twitter at the moment. Looking too at the pictures that were done by Alex, my grandfather. Posted about those here . I worked in the  Emporium Theatre on London Road, and was periodically barged by members of a moot of middle class mummies with their offspring.  Also there was a life class with people drawing, quite a lively place. Sonya had been while I was away, and I had left a yellow smiley post it note on our new va...

Got up and worked on several of my projects, but with a background of feeling shocked and saddened by yesterday's news. After a noodle-based lunch off to see Janet and Ken, and Huss was there too. Ken sprawled out  fast asleep with his mouth open when I arrived, but he perked up after a while, and we all had a good chat, putting the political world to rights. I also explained that my new green wallet was a key factor in the financial stability of the west. After drinking some lady grey tea and chatting in this way for an hour or so I made my way home again via Sainsbury's. A restless sense that I should be getting on with something. I watched on catch-up a middling slightly cartoonish BBC TV drama about Dylan Thomas, which despite quoting quite a bit of his work, failed to do him justice, I began work on a new poster for Beth for the play Les Belles-sœurs which she will be in next month. I worked at listening to records till Lorraine got home at half nine, after a supp...

Horrible news tonight from Toby. Joan and Dick's son Ethan has died. Toby, clearly shocked and pacing about at home in Toronto, told me that Romy was flying back home from Chicago and they are going up to Deviation Road tomorrow. I feel deeply sad that so many people I love, Toby, Romy, Joan and Dick will be so distraught and are so far away. My heart goes out to them. This makes the rest of the day's news seem inconsequential. A note from Rhona with an excellent endorsement from her to put on The Nightwork cover, for which I was very grateful.  An offer of work from my old chums at Tavistock Square this morning had to be turned down, but towards the afternoon I was told unexpectedly that I wouldn't be needed till next week so was released back into the wild, with only a few hours of work to do tomorrow. But on balance this has worked out very well, as after as sustained period of slogging on freelance,  on my poetry collection, the big business book, I am feeling a bit...

Up and off to London. Beautiful day, although there naturally the wrong kind of sun on the lines as train late. Caught a bus into work and noticed from the top deck a crowd of people with bags on their heads posing for a photo under Eros at Piccadilly Circus.  I spent the day rather unexpectedly writing tweets, which rather amusingly makes me a professional tweeter. All this emphasis on social media rather good though at the time, because I am trying to learn what I can about it social media knowledge. A poetry workshop this evening, which I had to miss getting home too late from London. Lorraine out singing with her choir when I got home. Lorraine however had picked up a the spiffy new vacuum cleaner we had ordered from around the corner. It is a Miele, which was highly recommended to me by Sonya, who my wife tells me, I always spell incorrectly.

Morning spent moving boxes from one room into another ready for the epic, if inelegantly-named, house poo coming up this week. This stressed me out really badly for some reason. Off in the afternoon to do more pleasant things, such as visit a few more open houses, and pop into see Janet's Open House again.  Ken still not well, and Janet understandably worried about him. Lorraine and I spent some time chatting with her. Also spoke to Huss. Then off to sit in Anton's garden where he barbecued a chicken in some species of elaborate barbecue smoker, with a recipe called beer butt chicken, as Anton slid a can of half-drunk beer up its butt as it was cooking. It was certainly moist and tasty. Sat outside eating salad and chicken, drinking a little and relaxing in the afternoon sun. A fine way to spend an afternoon.

Feeling the benefits of having had four days to get my life sorted. Up early, wrote a review of the Shakespeare Heptet, went out to buy bread, made tea and a quorn sausage sandwich in bed for Lorraine. I went back to bed for a bit. Then working on the book proposal for the marketing book, which I finally had time to send off today. Another big milestone achieved -- and all before lunch. Lorraine and I spent the afternoon very enjoyably drifting about our side of Brighton and wandering into open houses with Anton, Rosie and Dawn. A few bits of interesting art, but much generic stuff too. If I saw one piece of ceramic modelled on a flower or part of a flower structure, I saw 100. Some of it beautifully done of course. In the last house we ate scones and drank tea in a beautiful garden. This done, off aptly enough, to The Open House pub where we sat outside in its rather good beer garden and ate food and had a few drinks. Dawn is just about to buy a new project house, a lovely little co...

Up and working early on poems, and social media posts. Trying formulae such as lists which work quite well.  I wrote a list about aliens in advertising , and also worked a little on the new poem. Lorraine working at home, so we had a comparatively leisurely start to the day, after she'd been getting up very early most of the week. In the afternoon, off to meet Susan Evans in the Marwood cafe. She was trying to persuade me to perform in something called The Minge Fringe, a Vagina Monologues influenced thing. I felt ill equipped and had to admit that my contribution to minge literature was negligible. I'd met Susan at the poetry workshop I go to and she is an effervescent performer, and generally rather lively. She is writing a new piece which starts with the line "My minge has been through the mill.." Home and sloped up to The Signalman with Lorraine where she drank a soda water and I had a couple of beers and the sun went in.  A jay about its next robbing business...

Racing the deadline for getting the poems ready for The Nightwork, which meant I spent all morning muttering through them while Lorraine was working at the next desk. Finally, after some big (in terms of the manuscript) decisions, sent them off to Robin. Felt good to have got it done and sent off. I hope Robin likes it.  Both exciting and nerve wracking by turns. Confirmation of more freelancing in London next week, which is good. The Kenny coffers in increasingly good shape. This is directly to do with me buying a new green wallet of course. Otherwise, focused today. Apart from going to the gym, which was a great mind-cleanser and enabled me to be decisive and non stressed when I got home again. A five o'clock snooze that set me up admirably for the weekend. Lorraine and I zipped off in taxi to The Blue Man this evening to see the Shakespeare Heptet. We had been given the wrong time,  early of course, so we popped next door to the noisy rock venue the Hope where we met An...

A few really helpful comments from Rhona in my in basket first thing -- and so got to a day of intensive poem tinkering on the last lap. Followed by me making some ratatouille, for the first time in my life, and salting aubergines and courgettes. Yesterday's estate agent called around with his written valuation, but twice called me 'good man' in a matey way. I hate mateyness. I hate being called mate in shops too. I'm 'sir' to you is what I aways sniffily think. I am a fossil. Tonight, Lorraine and I ate ratatouille with griddled turkey steaks, a tasty and healthy business.

Up early, as Lorraine has been getting up at six thirtyish. I was phoned to find out if I would't mind taking the rest of the week off from the London job, as the budget had not yet been signed off by the client. This is actually a major boon as it gives me time to work on the poems, especially as Rhona has not been able to give me any feedback yet. Working hard all day. In the evening another estate agent came around and we chatted. The estate agents are all exactly the same with their valuations, which I suppose is encouraging. Went out this evening with Anton for a beer and a bite to eat in the newly refurbished Hare and Hounds just down the road at Preston Circus. They serve Mexican street food, which was tasty and fresh.  Their beer prices are a bit on the high side, and there is also a  microbrewery in the pub, but this beer is sold scandalously expensively. I paid £4.95 for a pint of their poor, golden-syrupy lager.  Still, the Anton and I had a good laugh and ...

At last a bit of time to work on The Nightwork, which I am supposed to deliver shortly. Rhona has been delayed in coming back with comments which is making me slightly anxious. But otherwise a great day. At lunchtime off to the gym for a trundle for the first time in quite a while. It felt good to be back among the unsmiling narcissists. Good news from Beth, her show had received a review in the Brighton Argus , which I thought was both fair-minded and encouraging. Excellent that they got a review at all. Lorraine working from home this afternoon, while I attended to the massive accumulation of correspondence and other stuff I have. Heard too from Nev, a former art director, who is back in the UK seeking gainful employment. Then a lightning tidy up before an estate agent arrived, for we are going to put the house on the market again. This estate agent, James, proved to be one I didn't instantly want to punch in the head. Lorraine asking him searching questions, while I eyed h...

Lorraine up early, and me not much later. Off to London for a one-day week, which makes it altogether less frightening. A mooch about at lunchtime, before ducking into Blackwells browsing happily and buying a book by Jean Baudrillard called Passwords , to continue my occasional skirmishes with recent continental philosophy. I seem to be buying hard copies of things again. I quite like reading real books, and read them faster than I listen to them. Left the office as it started teeming and I scurried onto a Victoria bound bus. The sky immense and foreboding as the train trundled over the Thames. Listening to podcasts and browsing Baudrillard and reading bits of  The Sound and the Fury  on the train before I arrived in a sunny Brighton. Lorraine out singing in the choir, where they are doing a version of Happy by Pharrell Williams, the pop tune of the year. Below Seven dials in London in a sunny interlude at lunchtime.