An evening spent with two drunks shouting at each other about something they both basically agreed with each other about (land / development tax in the UK). It actually started to get painful, I am very fond of both of them and they are father and daughter. Mad. I'm a bit worried about my niece - she's too young to be drinking as much as she does (half a dozen empty bottles when I came downstairs this morning, not all hers of course) and then stayed up until past midnight being tired and emotional about her job (all young women I know seem to be) with her mother. Now have to wake her up for her to go to work in London, and her stressy job, so she'll be even more tired and emotional by the end of the day. So glad I do not have to work, and do not have the whole of my life in front of me.
I asked my brother about part time / casual work at his firm, which he said they might well have - two or three days a week might be a good idea - I won't be able to spend money when I'm working, and I'll have a little extra cash. Funny being broke at the end of the month, haven't been that for a while, and had to borrow £70 off Charles T and Pol (which I'll then have to pay back out of my meagre pension in a few days).
H has made it to 7 days and is signed up for 100. She says she needs to do more things (apart from reading).
It's pouring with rain. Maybe stay here and do Metanoia until it stops, before pedalling home. If it stops. (It has, now).
Limes are magic. I wonder if I can buy fresh lime juice somewhere. So's hot ginger and lemon grass cordial.
Talking to Johnny this morning about Labour's tax and spending plans and the banking crisis and its aftermath, and the price that the Greeks and the Irish have had to pay to bail out the German and French banks. He insists, loudly, that we are all responsible, and collective punishment is entirely fair, but then finally concedes that there is one innocent victim who is having to pay the price, unfairly; guess who, it's him! It does seem crazy (to me) that in a transaction involving two parties - a lender and a borrower - somehow we are all responsible (apart of course from Johnny). When Top Trucks hit the buffers, I paid the price (or my pension pot did, and my father's inheritance) and the banks paid the price. But Johnny and Pol were not responsible. They both tried to stop me, and I ignored them, but even if they hadn't, and simply didn't know what was going on, you can't say they were responsible. Pol paid the price too, supporting me for those last six years, and maybe losing a husband, and gaining a drunk. Johnny too, to the extent that he got involved, against my wishes, in trying to clean up the mess I'd left behind. As far as I was concerned that was the Turners' and the Mooneys' problem, and they deserved it, and then some.
Back to Metanoia, at last, after taking Lily to the station and discussing the economy with Johnny. Meditate, shop, and then pedal home to cook and work on my table. And I've found a carpet for Pol's summerhouse, which she's pleased about - will save her a couple of hundred quid, if it's big and clean enough.
It was funny, looking at her visitor's book when I signed it on Saturday morning - I seem to be her most frequent visitor. Watching part 3 of Howard's End last night, 'only connect' coming up all the time. Margaret Schlegel and Henry Wilcox trying, and at the moment failing to (connect), making me think about Pol and I - both of us wanting I think to 'connect' - not to get back together, but somehow to understand what has happened to us both, what we meant and mean to each other. So pleased she seems to have stopped introducing me as a 'friend' - I'm her ex-, her former husband, as she is my late wife. I'm not saying we can't be friends, or friendly to each other, but to say 'let's be friends' as she has done at times, seems so inadequate a word - I am friends with my children, I think / hope, but that's not it, the sum of our relationship. There probably needs to be a word for it . . .
So far, so good (today, that is). Drove Lily to the station, wrote some more Metanoia, wrote this and fiddled about with it a bit, and added an explanatory entry as the featured (i.e. first) post. Cannot get the labels to display as a cloud, whatever I do. Meditate now (it's 13:13, well past due).
Did eventually (meditate, that is), then spent the last of my money (until Dec 1st) at the CoOp on tobacco and veg for my mince and peas casserole. Cycled home, wind behind me, with Johnny's extension lead on the back, to do my table tomorrow. Spent the rest of the afternoon cooking, which was nice, as is the result. Added no salt at all, just anchovies and bacon, and the last of the Californian fruit juice (a.k.a. fake wine). And fermented peas.
Meditated again after my supper (started feeling really desperate, missed it too much over the last few days I think).
I'm pleased with my work on the blog.
I have spent a mysterious £23.73 which I cannot account for.
A nice chat with Andrew Cresswell at Bonnevaux, on Facebook. They've only been in a month, and the whole place has to be refurbished. May visit January 8th for a week to help him erect his megapod for him and his wife to live in. There are some outbuildings with sound roofs. Check out RyanAir flights from Stansted. (£37 return 7-14 Jan, 2018).
Johnny asked about me working at Cransford. Can do apparently. Johnny will ring me about it tomorrow when the boss comes in.
Diana is smoking again. Maybe that was the problem. Still doesn't seem very happy. Maybe she never was.
I've found my "Against Philip Larkin's Aubade". I thought I'd need to rewrite it, but apart from one rather smug and too certain line ("I'm sure of this – not horror and the void, but love and bliss.") it's fine.
Against Aubade
Philip Larkin's 'Aubade'
And I'll add my Sex in Suffolk and Suffolk plough poems to my blog for the 15th November now. See Days 40 and 41, 15-16 November.
And so, with a final slug of the Detectorists, to bed.
I asked my brother about part time / casual work at his firm, which he said they might well have - two or three days a week might be a good idea - I won't be able to spend money when I'm working, and I'll have a little extra cash. Funny being broke at the end of the month, haven't been that for a while, and had to borrow £70 off Charles T and Pol (which I'll then have to pay back out of my meagre pension in a few days).
H has made it to 7 days and is signed up for 100. She says she needs to do more things (apart from reading).
It's pouring with rain. Maybe stay here and do Metanoia until it stops, before pedalling home. If it stops. (It has, now).
Limes are magic. I wonder if I can buy fresh lime juice somewhere. So's hot ginger and lemon grass cordial.
Talking to Johnny this morning about Labour's tax and spending plans and the banking crisis and its aftermath, and the price that the Greeks and the Irish have had to pay to bail out the German and French banks. He insists, loudly, that we are all responsible, and collective punishment is entirely fair, but then finally concedes that there is one innocent victim who is having to pay the price, unfairly; guess who, it's him! It does seem crazy (to me) that in a transaction involving two parties - a lender and a borrower - somehow we are all responsible (apart of course from Johnny). When Top Trucks hit the buffers, I paid the price (or my pension pot did, and my father's inheritance) and the banks paid the price. But Johnny and Pol were not responsible. They both tried to stop me, and I ignored them, but even if they hadn't, and simply didn't know what was going on, you can't say they were responsible. Pol paid the price too, supporting me for those last six years, and maybe losing a husband, and gaining a drunk. Johnny too, to the extent that he got involved, against my wishes, in trying to clean up the mess I'd left behind. As far as I was concerned that was the Turners' and the Mooneys' problem, and they deserved it, and then some.
Back to Metanoia, at last, after taking Lily to the station and discussing the economy with Johnny. Meditate, shop, and then pedal home to cook and work on my table. And I've found a carpet for Pol's summerhouse, which she's pleased about - will save her a couple of hundred quid, if it's big and clean enough.
It was funny, looking at her visitor's book when I signed it on Saturday morning - I seem to be her most frequent visitor. Watching part 3 of Howard's End last night, 'only connect' coming up all the time. Margaret Schlegel and Henry Wilcox trying, and at the moment failing to (connect), making me think about Pol and I - both of us wanting I think to 'connect' - not to get back together, but somehow to understand what has happened to us both, what we meant and mean to each other. So pleased she seems to have stopped introducing me as a 'friend' - I'm her ex-, her former husband, as she is my late wife. I'm not saying we can't be friends, or friendly to each other, but to say 'let's be friends' as she has done at times, seems so inadequate a word - I am friends with my children, I think / hope, but that's not it, the sum of our relationship. There probably needs to be a word for it . . .
So far, so good (today, that is). Drove Lily to the station, wrote some more Metanoia, wrote this and fiddled about with it a bit, and added an explanatory entry as the featured (i.e. first) post. Cannot get the labels to display as a cloud, whatever I do. Meditate now (it's 13:13, well past due).
Did eventually (meditate, that is), then spent the last of my money (until Dec 1st) at the CoOp on tobacco and veg for my mince and peas casserole. Cycled home, wind behind me, with Johnny's extension lead on the back, to do my table tomorrow. Spent the rest of the afternoon cooking, which was nice, as is the result. Added no salt at all, just anchovies and bacon, and the last of the Californian fruit juice (a.k.a. fake wine). And fermented peas.
Meditated again after my supper (started feeling really desperate, missed it too much over the last few days I think).
I'm pleased with my work on the blog.
I have spent a mysterious £23.73 which I cannot account for.
 |
| Abbaye de Bonnevaux, Marçay, Poitou |
Johnny asked about me working at Cransford. Can do apparently. Johnny will ring me about it tomorrow when the boss comes in.
Diana is smoking again. Maybe that was the problem. Still doesn't seem very happy. Maybe she never was.
I've found my "Against Philip Larkin's Aubade". I thought I'd need to rewrite it, but apart from one rather smug and too certain line ("I'm sure of this – not horror and the void, but love and bliss.") it's fine.
Against Aubade
Philip Larkin's 'Aubade'
And I'll add my Sex in Suffolk and Suffolk plough poems to my blog for the 15th November now. See Days 40 and 41, 15-16 November.
And so, with a final slug of the Detectorists, to bed.
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