Tuesday I wake surprisingly perky and in a definite up yours mood. I get up and make drinks for my partner and I and take my vitals. All good I am pleased to say. I eschew reading and prefer to check my messages and mail. Nothing, so be it, I get up an dress ready to go out, for this morning I and my partner are off to the Rockpool Café for breakfast. Because we can and its a holiday. I take my morning meds before stepping out into the rain. All I can say is thankfully I had the sense to put my Heli Hanson rain wear in the car before we came.
Having taken the short step to the Rockpool we settled in at a table and ordered breakfast. My eggs Benedict with salmon and a large hot chocolate were a real treat, which I enjoyed immensely, even to the point of eating all the spinach that came with it. Such a surprise to my partner that she wondered if I had hidden it in a napkin. A good breakfast is no substitute for sunshine but this one certainly helped. After loitering in the warmth of the café we head for the shops to buy tonight’s tea and to replenish this nibbles store. It rains of course but we achieve our targets adn return to the apartment to stow the goodies adn then go out again to get stamps and some odds and ends.
Back at the apartment I settle down to do the crosswords in todays paper and to have a cup of decaf. I breeze through the cross words and move onto selecting which poem I am going to take to the Poetry Stanza on Saturday. I have some newish ones but I go for one I wrote on the Arvon course at the end of 2021. We were asked to write something in response to a New York Times short story about a man called Anders who gets himself shot dead because he laughs in a bank robbery when the robbery uses the word Capiche. I have met and worked with many of these sorts of Capiche guys so I wrote my version. I add that I never laughed out loud at them although I was inwardly amused at times.
Capiche! Like Anders I laugh Aping the Cat A Walk, bow legged Arms akimbo Like a carpet Deliverer having Lost his rolls. A tattooed strut That says; “Does it look like I’ve got Victim On my forehead?” Hours in the gym Putting on the armour To ward of anyone, To be safe. This is the image. Poke your finger Through it and feel The empty space. The person so lost That they became the image. This is what you see This is what you get Capiche?
So I send my poem off to the group and see how it goes down at Saturdays meeting over zoom. The rain breaks and the sun comes out as I finish the first drafting of todays blog content. Now is the time to dash out and walk, eat ice cream and play crazy golf in any order, or dally a while and eat cream and jam laden scones.
As it turns out I and my partner manage both a round of crazy windy golf and a walk along the back of the long natural pebble ridge that runs the length of Westwood Ho! beach. It seems that the Northam borough council has a whimsical sense of humour as they warn people not to take pebble or the elves will get them. Here is the proof.
On retuning to the apartment I check my vitals and then spend some time reading Cloud Atlas. As the sun comes out my partner and I eat our traditional Devon pasties tea. The evening stretches into continuing to watch a Spy Amongst Friends and finally to taking my night meds and heading for bed. I am finally spoonless.
