Monday and I wake up feeling crap, a vague light headedness. So I get up for coffee and toast followed by more coffee. My intention was to start to train first thing but feel so shit I am going to concentrate on just getting myself functional. So, I order my drugs, clear the kitchen and start to draft the blog. This is not an auspicious start to my week. I retreat to the Shed and before I settle down I check Fort Hog to see if the food has gone. It has, so I check the camera. There are pictures of the hog but also pictures of the pesky cat. The cat had managed to perch on the narrow strip of now spiky roof of Fort Hog. The greedy little monster is at least persistent. As I have no more spike mats I apply my creativity and adaptability to the problem. My stroke of genius is “holly”. Natures natural spikes come to my rescue and I just happen to have a source of it. I set about shoring up the Fort Hog defences. I am hoping my inspiration works out, tomorrow’s camera shots will show me.
I return to the Shed and spend time staring into space and then write a couple of poems. They are not good but are reflective of where I am with writing poetry. They were spurred by my recent contemplating trying to submit more of my poems to magazines for publication and entering them into competitions. Only yesterday I got another “piss off” email, so I was in the mood to put pen to paper.
I am one of life’s accompanists, a pianist to a singer, a backing vocalist to another. All my life I’ve echoed, I’ve reflected the art around me, embellished, encouraged and applauded. All that is my own is sunk, mired in a talentless shell that cannot be broken through. It is a tragedy to know this And yet persevere. Grasping at thin air the hope is to catch that moment that others feel, recognise yet could not find the words for. To communicate before knowing what meaning it might contain. Finding the moment in this second hand world that lives for that one sparkling coming into the light.
I pack up the Shed and go back indoors to have a soup lunch and to spend time looking at which poetry publishers I am going to send stuff to. The various publisher all have different submission requirements and deadlines. I draw up a list of possible magazines and list the main requirements. I’ve sat around too long a get a sneezing fit, so I rouse myself and set about hoovering the remainder of the house and getting the washing in. Whilst doing so I miss a call from a friend, which is always a disappointment. I finally get to sit and to draft more of the blog against the background of economic U turns. At any moment I expect Tesco to deliver and curb my irritation at next door having an Asda delivery and blocking my drive. The perils of first world living right there. As is so predictable the Tesco van pulls up just as I sit down to eat my tea. There is a flurry of activity and then the pleasure of food follows. This evening will be slow and preparing to meet an old colleague and friend for coffee tomorrow morning. All my messages today are about how people are struggling at the moment either with illness or with juggling the Real World, or both. It seems that there is a general craving for relief from it all at the moment.
