Thursday, a taxi at 8 o’clock to the train station whisks me away in my Ko Lak blue suit and leather shoulder bag. I spring into first class and settle in smugly. No food! Now not so smug. I read poetry from the two collections I have with me, both by tutors on the course that I am going on in November. The Ugandan’s poetry is good stuff and full of powerful images and feelings. Some of it quite harrowing as it describes his flight from Idi Amin and the degeneration of his home land through his child’s eyes. The other poetry collection has a reader warning at the front. I read the collection twice and for the life of me I could not see anything remotely upsetting about it. Do the snowflake generation not get that life sucks at times? I assume that I have forgotten what its like to be young and the pain of discovering life exacerbated by a life spent wading around the minds and lives of the criminal fraternity and the world of mental health services. So the poetry occupies me till the train pulls into St Pancras and I glimpse my favourite Tracy Emin richly pink in the distance.
I get into the EN&L cafe. It used to be a straight forward travel cafe with regular normal food. Now it is a falafel invaded pink monstrosity with a hideous pink poodle sculpture. I get two cheese and tomato croissants and a black coffee, the best normal food I could find. I linger over the coffee till my colleague arrives and buys me a second coffee. We sit and chat till almost noon when we move onto the brassiere that I booked us into. We check in and order drinks while we wait for two other colleagues to join us .One then, an hour, later another join us and we settle into some delicious food and conversation. It is a farewell dinner for a manager who is leaving after being at the RCP for 17 years. We of course brought gifts and praise. At 4 o’clock the colleagues moved onto a space in a pub but I returned to a train to come home. This time there was free drinks and nibbles to have. I read more poetry and look out of the window. I am struck by the profusion of Buddleia that is growing wild along the train embankments. It is clear that the future of butterflies is assured with so much Buddleia established over so many miles of the trackside. I get out of the station and hop into a taxi to take me home. I am tired and settle down to watch Vera and the para-Olympics. I go to bed but I sleep poorly and find it difficult to get any sleep.
Friday and I wake early unable to sleep so its an early coffee and muesli breakfast. I get dressed and set about organising the day. The first job was to ring the garage and see if my car was ready. Apparently the garage thought I was not back from London till tonight, but my car was in fact ready. I drive the borrowed garage car to the garage and grit my teeth to hear the bill, it turns out to be okay. I now have new back wheel brake discs and pads to go with the new tyres. I am hoping this will get the car through its M.O.T on Tuesday. I chat to a friend as I drive home and catch up with plans. Home and I go to the Shed and write a letter. By lunch time I’m ready for a village walk with my partner before a light lunch. I post my letter and then set about re screwing the Shed door to the shed. It was down to its last screw, which explains why the door was getting difficult to close smoothly. I get tidied up and retire to the bedroom to start reading one of the novels that has been written by one of the writing course tutors. I get about 20 pages in and already I am finding this novel difficult. It is over wordy, adjective rich for the sake of it. Its going to be an effort this novel but I have until November to read it and its sister novel. Its tea time and I settle down on the sofa to write the past two days blog. My evening will be Jesse Stone and an early night hoping to sleep.
