DVT DAYS 233 & 234

Tuesday and what a pain in the arse it was for a lot of the time, basically because the IT system at the Royal College of Psychiatrist’s new security protocols are faulty. So for most of the day I kept getting the message that my machine had been deleted from the system. Eventually a very patient and kind man from the IT help desk rescued me and between us we managed to get my machine undeleted and up to speed again. I did manage to get a zoom call session in with my manager at the RCP, which was useful. I was so wrung out by the end of the day wrestling with the IT that I had no desire to do any work whatsoever, so I didn’t. I was at the end of a darkening autumn afternoon and frankly could not give a toss about enabling environments or helping the world be a better place. So I baked ginger and almond Florentines from Nadia Hussain’s BBC recipe. My first attempt, which went okayish, but I think I will adapt them to include glace cherries and sultanas, a more traditional recipe.

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My evening consisted of watching Liverpool win whilst keeping an eye on Japanese week on The Great British Bake Off and devouring my favourite tune pasta dish. Of course I had to try the Florentines with a coffee and being sweet toothed me I end up eating at least four of the chocolate and sugar laden little beauty’s. Pleasant enough but immediately followed by the guilt of knowing that sugar feeds my cancer and I wonder why I have this sudden urge to bake stuff, all the things that are not good for me in a very real sense. I can’t be that fed up with COVID, can I?

Once everyone has gone to bed I curl up on the sofa, put the fire on and settle down to read my new book that arrived today. On Connection by Kae Tempest, one of my favourite poets and play writer. Its her COVID contribution and is an extended essay on creativity and connecting to people, typically lyrical, raw and honest. I sit and read till I have finished the book, stare into space for a while thinking about friends and what I have in hand to create and go to bed with a head full of “stuff”.

Wednesday, bins will be collected, the Hoover is being used followed by the sound of office chatter, I think about staying in bed but the thought of bacon bagels is overwhelming and I need coffee. I’ve decide to spend the day writing my contribution to a debate I am taking part in at a conference in November. I have fifteen minutes to fill and I’ve read five books in preparation, that feels like over kill, if I don’t write it now it will just become impossible, I’ve got so much new material and ideas that its going to take time to edit it down and make it cogent. The irony is that I am on the wrong side of the argument, I’m hoping my opponent is dazzling and persuasive enough to win the vote, however in the spirit of fair play I am going to give him a run for his money. So I am off to the shed to write my notes and to think. My reading last night has left me churned and in my head I carry the section that noted that the difference between a poet and those that think they could be a poet is that the poet has finished work. It is the creativity that leads to the work: the writer, the work, the reader, then there is the possibility of connection.

I doubt I will add more today.

There is work to be done.