Thursday and I wake up decidedly groggy and wonder if this is due to the additional drugs that the GP has prescribed as a guard against future UTIs. I have no way of knowing so I check my messages and then my vitals. These are all okay. The builder badgers have arrived and putting copping stones on the tops of the new patio walls, very smart. I make breakfast ad as I do I remember last nights episode of “Race Across The World. The young brother and sister couple are filmed talking to each other and the sister tells him what it is like to be be born without a uterus and only one kidney, of how the loss of hope for children of her own affects her and how it has in the past. They have never talked about this before. The edit cuts to the brother talking to camera about how that conversation has affected him and suddenly he is in tears and all he can say is “Can somebody hold me” Thankfully a camera crew member does. The memory of it makes me feel unexpectedly tearful at first I think this about my dead sister but then I realise its about missing my old work in therapeutic communities. I write a poem.

395
They race across the world
a brother and sister.
She talks to camera after
telling her brother what it is like 
to be born without a uterus,
without hope of children,
and with one kidney.
He talks to camera
and cannot bear the pain
and can only tearfully say:
“will someone hold me”?
A film crew member does. 
This comes back to me as I 
make breakfast, out of the blue,
I am tearful.
At first I think this is
about my dead sister
and then I realise,
I miss my work.
All those men,
criminals living in community
who desperately wanted to be different,
good, kind,
loved.
Those oceans of tearful realisation
in the struggle to be 
a better person.
The grief of killing
a best friend,
wife or 
stranger.
That inception of horror
and the desperation to never
create a victim again.
Some succeeded,
some could not bear the pain,
others saw the process 
and ran. 
Time and time again 
I saw those tears
and the plea to be held;
held by community,
held by group;
just held.

									395 23-05-2024

I eat breakfast and then take to the sofa to transcribe poems to digital and then start the blog for the day. I feel terrible still and just want to sleep. It feels as if I just need to become mindless for a while and sleep it off like a drunk but tomorrow is jab Bank Holiday Friday and we are supposed to be going out in the evening. I need to pull myself round and its noon already.

The afternoon is filled with finishing “the sun and her flowers”, a book of poetry that is beyond anything I could do. I can see why it sold. It has a unique voice and speaks to many contemporary issues. I am so taken with it that I have sent it to a friend. Having finished the poetry I caste around for diversion still feeling ropey and then I find the Post Office inquiry, and I am in luck its Paula Vennells giving evidence. I spend a long time watching is a sort of stupor. How did such an incompetent get installed as the CEO of the Post Office. I lost cunt of the number of times she could not recall or remember or did not know. Another display of denial and ingenious obfuscation. There was no a moment when I felt a twinge of sympathy for her, she clearly was so thick she was out of her depth or she knew very well what was going on and chose to let it go on. It is a modern spectacle of throwing the Christians to the lions, it was never a fair contest really as the Kings Council minutely devours her tiny morsel by tiny morsel. So I watch and wait to see if there is a phone in vote to see if I can give a thumbs up or down. I know it does not work like that but what fun it would be, instead I will have to rely on social media and Private Eye to ensure the final lasting blows to any future Paula Vennells thinks she might have. I say good bye to the builder badgers for the weekend, they have done a lot of work today including installing a new manhole cover on our discovered one on the back path. The whole project is getting along well now, there is just something like 2000 paving blocks to lay now, gate pillars to finish building, electrics to finish and drain ways to install. There is still about two weeks worth of work to go.

The evening begins with a classic Star Trek and then drifts on into an evening of drivel really but it serves it purpose of getting me to Friday and my monthly jab in one piece. Suddenly there is a flurry of activity from the Americans and a new cover design for The Cancer Years: Some Rough Stuff arrives and is shortly followed by the manuscript for that collection. I have a quick look at the draft manuscript and my heart sinks as who ever put it together clearly has not understood the manuscript. I sigh and know it will take me all day tomorrow to get it straight. It appears I am going to have a busy day, jab, editing, concert.