Sunday, its a slow start but there are some things that need to be organised for Christmas, so after a quick breakfast I and my partner once again walk down to the village craft fair. I knew exactly what I wanted and headed for the stall where the woman who uses recycled materials to create all sorts of things resides. On display she has three of the things I want, when I ask if she has any more she rummages around in a cardboard box and produces three more. I look them over and then tell her her which five I will talk. She is surprised and I explain I have crafting friends who will really love them. It was probably the biggest single sale she made all weekend, which is why I left with a “Merry Christmas” ringing in my ears.
My partner and I walk home and then drive to our favourite butcher at the garden centre. After a bit of toing and froing we joined the Christmas Club and ordered the turkey and turkey crown we will need for Christmas. With nothing else to buy we return home and I start the Sunday rugby and football marathon. The rugby was okay but the game of the evening was England thrashing Ireland while we ate a roast dinner. The Strictly results show goes to prediction as the Welsh opera singer goes out and then the evening meanders into a malaise of TV wall paper until the only sensible thing to do is take my night meds and go to bed.
Monday and I find my partner has gone to the gym and left me to do my vitals and get up and into my training gear. I get up and find a cold and empty house so go off to the garage which is decidedly chilly. I strap in and get going, its hard work and I am not sure I am going to make my benchmark 11 kilometres. Towards the end I am able to pick up the pace a bit and just about get to my goal.
With the session recorded and the kitchen cleared I shower and wait for the return of my partner. Lunch is at a local delicatessens come pub come restaurant. The Chilli is reasonable. Back home I catch up with the blog and assist in the present buying for the youngest grandson while taking past in a video call with my youngest daughter.
With time my own I go in search of the W. H. Auden poem that I had come across again from watching Four Weddings and A Funereal the other night while I was waiting for my night meds to kick in. I wasn’t sure why it was so affecting until I read it and realised the rhyming scheme and how it was constructed. Of course the context and John Hanna’s rendition of it is powerful.
I am trying to decide which poem to take to this months Poetry Stanza meeting. Its been a rather dry creative month so far and I am struggling to find words to put to paper. My out put recently has been meagre and not very inspired so I might have to rake through my old stuff to see if there anything that warrants an airing. When I am feeling like this I tend to go for something short and more pithy than usual, so at the moment my Dylan Thomas poem is the most likely.
418
Dylan Thomas
staggers out
from a days
labour.
“three words”
he mutters.
That’s one
“bible black bat”.
Can’t help feeling
the lazy bastard
could have managed
more.
418 21-10-2024
By 4:30 the world is pitch black (sloe black, slow, black, crowblack) and I slide into the evening during which I shall read, perhaps write and continue to watch whichever TV series has taken the family eye, hoping that inspiration will strike me at some point.
