Friday, and I wake to the sound of my daughter heading off to work and get up to find my partner getting ready to visit her mother with her brother. This means that once I have downed my breakfast, coffee and meds I have the house to myself. There are chores to do before I can indulge. Today is “read your meters” day and get the readings to the energy supplier to ensure you do not get stiffed on the new prices as from tomorrow. I read our meters and note them down before logging onto my suppliers app. While I am inputting my data I notice that the amount of credit we have suddenly drops. When I check and do the maths it turns out that my supplier has just taken the remaining period of the old price (pre-Putin) in readiness to charge me the new Putin rates as from tomorrow. In doing so a communist tyrant will enable my energy supplier to make obscene excess profits, which this pox ridden government is going to let them keep, whilst the energy executives piss themselves with joy at the tax cut the same pox ridden government has just given them. Cannot help wondering what Truss’s head would look like on a spike.

I move on to the next item on my to do list, which is to clear the kitchen followed by sticking a load of washing in the machine. This done I can indulge in an extravagant bath. There is nothing like the opulence of a good bath. I imagine such luxury will become rarer in the Putin polluted future. Whilst in the bath I continue to read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. It is a remarkable book and in many ways before its time. It captures the working classes (or in Americas case, the poor) aspirations and the recognition that education is the pathway to them. There was a section where the main character starts their first job. A mindless manual job of winding paper onto wire to form a stem for someone else to attach petals to. At this point she has the following realisation:

“”This could be a whole life,” she thought. “You work eight hours a day covering wires to earn money to buy food and to pay for a place to sleep so that you can keep living to come back to cover more wires. Some people are born and kept living just to come to this. Of course, some of these girls will marry, marry men who have the same kind of life. What will they gain? They’ll gain someone to hold conversations within the few hours at night between work and sleep.” But she knew the gain wouldn’t last. She had seen too many young working couples who, after the children came and the bills piled up, rarely communicated with each other except in bitter snarls. “These people are caught” she thought. “And why? Because (remembering her grandmother’s repeated conviction), they haven’t got enough education,” Fright grew in Francie. Maybe it would be so that she’d never get to high school; maybe she’d never have more education than she had at that moment. Maybe all her life she’d have to cover wires…cover wires…”

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Betty Smith pp358.

I remember having this exact experience in my late teens as I stood behind a Post Office counter amid my fellow counter clerks of many years and heading for retirement. In my case I had 1 O level and was desperate to go to university because I knew that it was my way out of “covering wires”. Like Francie I had parents that had educational aspirations. In Francie’s case her family had read a page of the bible and a page of Shakespeare every day and she had learned to love reading. My parents took us to concerts and art galleries, which was lucky as I am dyslexic (I was the one at the back doing raffia work while others learnt things) but I got the message that there was a world of culture and learning that could lift me out of where I was. I thought if I had a degree, I had a meal ticket for life. As it turned out I needed two. The fact that this was all seen and written about in 1944, four years before I was born, I find incredible. The fact that somehow in every generation there are those of us lucky enough to realise what our way out is and to be able to achieve it, while others either never have the realisation or for whatever reason are unable to take that path, is what inspires some of us to fight.

That was a lot to appreciate in one bath time. I got out of cold water slightly wrinkly and got on with stuff. I hang my washing up, checked the hedgehog food and the garden camera. The scrofulous black and white cat from next door continues to plunder the hedgehog food. I have ordered cat “prickles” and hope to construct a workable deterrent to the cat. I eat lunch and settle down to some domestic comfort as the rain lashes down outside. The garden camera can go out tomorrow. My partner returns from seeing her mother and we sort out her mother’s meter readings and look at her energy usage. There is something awry and we start the process of communicating with a chat bot. So the early evening heaves into view and I start to draft the blog, while my eldest daughter makes her way home in the rain and my partner contemplates making tea. In an act of pre-Putin gas prices, we put the heating on, we’ll show the bastard we can’t be bullied, this is another cold war he will lose.

Thursday, and I wake to a partner looking for her work security pass as she is going into work. The pass is found and she goes to work. I get up and have coffee and breakfast with my morning meds. I potter about for a bit and then retreat to the Shed to write a letter and sort through my correspondence. My daughter goes to the doctor with a sore throat and returns having been told there were not enough doctors to see her and to return later in the day.

I make myself lunch and put the evening meal in the crockpot before returning to the Shed. I am preparing a list of contacts to go alongside my Will and other papers. I continue to tidy up my correspondence and then I walk over to the post office to post my letter. It’s time to check the hedgehog feeding station. It appears the food has gone so I refill the food bowls and put fresh water out for the hog. I rejig the anti-cat defences but do not have time to check the garden camera. An old colleague calls me, and I get to speak to old colleagues on speaker phone. It was a nice surprise and good to her them again. My daughter returns from the doctors with a diagnosis of laryngitis. The garden guy arrives so I make him coffee and talk about work. As I finish the chat my partner returns home.

The evening begins and straight after our meal my partner goes for her singing lesson. I watch a rugby match on TV. The rest of the evening is taken by TV before I take my night meds and go to bed, still hoping that my cold symptoms will abate enough for me to train soon.

Wednesday, bin day and the day I wake up still with a cold. I make coffee and watch the morning news. The bank of England is buying government debt as government bonds plunge. This means of course that pension funds and other stuff are watching the value of their balance sheets vanishing before their eyes. Mortgages are also going up, so the Tory government has started with a real bang. The morning is a patchwork of odds and ends. Some poetry stuff, some domestic chores, replenishing the hedgehog feed and reviewing the garden camera.

It gets to lunchtime and everyone in the house are cold. I decide to test the central heating. I know it’s a radical move, but I figure the system needs a run and be warmed through just to check the system is fully functional. While I wait for the system to warm up I do a bit more research on poetry publishers. During this I am engaged with WhatsApp arranging to meet a friend for coffee next week. He has suffered a cruel and fierce redundancy decision in less than a month after taking up a new post and moving to the area to do so. It is an increasingly harsh Real World out there. My partner gets a call from the GP who decides it’s okay to tell her over the phone that her recent x-ray is suggesting she has arthritis in her forearms. All the GP can offer is pain killers and a thought that there might be a bit of carpal tunnel syndrome. She offers to refer to a specialist but warns that it will take a long time to be seen. I ring our local Spire hospital and within minutes they reply to my enquiry and in the call, we arrange an appointment for a few days’ time, fix the initial fee and provide them with all the information they need to access the x-rays already done. All we can do now is attend the appointment and undertake the most thorough assessment possible and then see what options become available.

The rest of my afternoon is spent trying to sort out when I can go to York to see my mentor again. It feels the right time to do this talking. I also spend some time catching up with some life admin. By the time the working day comes to an end everyone in the house is feeling drained and without energy. It becomes a fish and chip night and my partner, and I go over to our village chippy to collect the goodies.

Back home its fish and chips and then we settle down for a quiet evening watching TV and hunkering down. I watch the news with a kind of morbid fascination as the financial situation unravels. I draft the blog and contemplate what I am going to do tomorrow. As always, I take my night meds and hope for significant sleep tonight.

Tuesday and I am awakened y the doorbell at 7:30. I get dressed quickly adn find my partner has taken delivery of a large cardboard container. I set about the package, and it reveals a hamper. Itis a present from my sister. I excitedly open up the hamper and unwrap the numerous inner parcels. It is a treasure trove of culinary delights. The family are going to dine richly over the coming days. A super start to the day, which I follow up with coffee and a dish of muesli. I start to draft the blog and then move on into the day.

After the excitement of the hamper, I go to the Shed and tinker with my laptop camera. I try out some of the applications and end up making a video file. Its lunchtime before finish recording and I am getting peckish. I am tempted to raid the hamper, but I resist and go for my favourite bacon and lentil soup. I spend some time trying to get my EE phone app working and eventually have to reinstall it but eventually I get there. The window cleaner comes and goes. Not impressed with the quality-of-service and will have a think about alternatives. A friend messages me to tell me she has been successful in an online auction and with appropriate pride tells me how she succeeded by going the extra two pence in the dyeing seconds of the auction. She clearly is a formidable bidder. It’s a while since I ventured onto ebay, but I do recall the pleasure of what felt like a victory when winning a pair of Chinese archer’s thumb rings. I pop across to the post office to send my most recent letters and return home. The TV is on and I get engrossed in the Labour Party Conference. Keir Starmer is delivering his keynote speech and I have to say he does it well. He has some good ideas, all he has to do now is win an election.

I get off the sofa and go into the garden to fill the bird feeders, fill the squirrel feeder and replenish the hedgehog’s dish. In a burst of unexpected energy I get all the garden furniture covers out and, in the drizzle, put the garden furniture to bed for the winter. I can’t see me sitting around in the garden in the coming weeks as the temperature is dropping. So my garden is now in winter mode, perhaps a tad early but it feels right for this year. Perersly as I sit and update the draft of the blog the sun comes out.

As it is Tuesday, I put the recycling bins out and then retreat to the sofa and check my social media. I get a message from a friend that is disturbing, and I do not get messages from others, that is also disturbing but I dare say all will become clear in due course. I continue to draft the blog as the evening beckons. For me tonight is one for a relaxing bath and a bit of a read. I think my cold is just beginning to lift, apart from the odd sneezing fit so I am hoping for a good night’s sleep. Meds and bed.

Monday and I wake up with my cold still in place. So I get up wrap up warm and have coffee and breakfast. I go to take my morning meds and find my drugs wallet empty. I also find my spare wallet empty as well and I realise that it’s time to do my fortnightly refill. I grab my drugs supply and fill my wallets; mentally noting where I am in my injection cycle and drug reordering phase. I take my meds and then head for the Shed.

For the first time this year I feel the chill of autumn. I know I have a cold but the ambient temperature has dropped, I am sure of it. I check the re-sighted hedgehog canteen and find the food has gone. Either the hog has eaten it or the cat that visits has. I have hung lemon slices around the canteen as cats do not like citrus scents but I have no evidence on the garden camera as to whether it is working or not. I settle in the Shed and have five-minute blast of the heater and then start to write letters. This is me until gone midday when I pack up my office backpack and return to the house for lunch. I make a favourite, fried egg sandwich and check my emails. There is a message with a spread sheet attached of a great number of poetry magazines and online forums, which is a god send for me as it gives me a starting point to put some things out there. I’ve not given up on my poetry coyote YouTube channel idea, but it is taking me longer to get together than I anticipated. I go through the spreadsheet and mark off the ones that are a possibility for me. Amazon delivers. It is my wearable sofa blanket, which I of course try on. Once on I could not resist playing the warlock much to the amusement of my partner. Thankfully I have no plans to wear it outside the house.

As a friend noted the pattern matching of the giant pocket on the front is appalling, which I have to agree it is but slobbing on my sofa I guess I am not going to be too worried about it. I go and put food in the hedgehog canteen and then settle down to start to draft the blog and prepare for the evening. There is an international football match on, England v Germany. It will pass some time and will be the trial run for the sofa blanket. It is cold, I am old and I might just see if the gas fire in the lounge is working for a little while. It’s the time of year to test it. My sister calls and tells me to expect a package tomorrow and in passing tells me that she is having trouble logging into this web site via google. Is anyone else having an issue. The message from google is that the site is not secure, however the site does have an SSI certificate in place so there should be no problem.

Friday, a missing day, the only thing that happened was my autumn COVID booster jab done at a local Boots. No fuss, straight in, a few questions and then a rapid jab. I was sent off into the distance with a warning not to drive for 15 minutes. I ignored that and drove home with my supplies to cook our quests meal tomorrow. England lose 1-o to Italy in the evening.

Saturday and a busy day ahead so I am up early for coffee and meds. I then spend my morning beavering away in the kitchen. There is a beef Bourguignon to get into the crockpot for the next nine hours and the ingredients of couscous stuffed beef tomatoes to get ready. By lunch time the Bourguignon is slowly cooking and the stuffed tomatoes ready to pop into the oven. I add a Quinnel of Greek yoghurt and decorative strawberry to the strawberry prosecco jellies that I made the night before and return them to them to the fridge.

I have a little time to prepare for my initial meeting of the Leicestershire poetry Stanza. I print off the remaining poems and arrange them in the presentation order that has come through by email from the convenor. I settle down to read the through one last time. I definitely have favourites. Two o’clock arrives and I log in on zoom. I find myself with a screen full of unknown new people. No says hello or introduces themselves and no one asks me anything about me. So this is how adults in the real world conduct themselves, interesting. The Stanza starts. Someone reads a poem, not the author, and then everyone makes comments about it. Its cear there are the emotional responders and then there are the “academic” ones. I learn very quickly that there is a poetry vocabulary which is indicative of ones knowledge. A sort of “in speak” of nods and winks to a “higher” understanding of the art of poetry. I’m tempted to leave but decide I am going to stickit out. I am third poem in. Someone reads my poem adn i have to sit silently while the others talk about it. In general, they are kind and make useful comments and pose one or two interesting questions. Why do I start every line with a capital? Good question, I think its habit. Once they have finished, I thank them for their feedback and fill in some of the gaps as way of explaining the root of the poem. I thank them for being kind on my first time of receiving such criticism live for the first time. We move on and I feel emboldened enough to make a comment about someone else’s poem. I’m on a roll and opt to read a poem. It’s the one that gave me the greatest buzz when I first read it. It struck me as a performance piece, and I thought I could do it justice. It was written by the guy who made it clear at the start that he did not want to read his own as he is dyslexic, so I figured a bit of dyslexia comradery was in order. I enjoyed reading the poem and joined in the debate. The poet seemed to be happy with my reading of his poem. We break for a coffee and then we are back in rhythm reading, commenting and moving on. The end arrives and it’s a quick goodbye, see you next time and the host ended the session. I survived and I am left with all sorts of impressions of the participants. I notice I am the only one that used a “wallpaper” on the zoom feed. The majority of them were clearly siting in lounges or offices with the walls full of books. Interestingly the obvious exception was my fellow dyslexic who just happened to be the only black guy in the group. Perhaps next time I might take a bit more of a risk with what I give them to consider.

Once free of the Stanza I am quickly back into cook mode. I prepare the table and retrieve my prepared dishes. Our guest’s message to say they are slightly delayed, so I retime my cooking schedule and then I wait for them to arrive. They arrive in due course, and we sit and nibble and drink until the first course is ready. We begin the meal and conversation starts in earnest. We eat our way through starter, main, sweet, cheese and biscuits followed by coffee with mints and chocolates. We talk and exchange experiences till almost midnight, the time has flown and it’s been a real pleasure to have spent time so convivially. We wave our guests off into the night and then my partner and I load the dishwasher and sleepily go to bed. I forget to take my meds.

Sunday. I wake up feeling quite good, no bad gut and feeling quite emotionally plump, I must leave out the night meds more often. I make clear away the last of the previous night’s debris and make drinks for myself and partner before returning to bed. We check out how we are after last night and then get up to have breakfast before face timing our youngest daughter. I check the hedgehog canteen adn find the food has gone. Cat or Hedgehog? I refill the food dish and then check the garden camera. There are pictures of the hog but there is no clear evidence of who is eating the food. My partner goes to the gym and then I settle down to catch up drafting the blog before indulging in a televised rugby match. It’s a good match and is worth the time. I do a bit of tidying and do a couple of crosswords before settling into my evening of food (re remains of yesterday’s evening meal) and then I will settle down to a quiet evening of TV catch up and reading.

Thursday and I wake up with a streaming nose. A cold surely not. So I am up early downing a coffee and looking for my Actifed. I do toast and more coffee to wash down the morning meds. I check my messages and emails and find that members of the poetry Stanza are sending poems for Saturdays meeting. I start downloading them and later in the morning I print them and spend time reading them. There is some really good stuff and some stuff that does not touch me. Bound to be the case I guess. My own submission is one of my Herod’s Children, the failed Ducks at Swinfen poem. It’s a poem I feel safe to share. I will be interested to hear what people think of it. The format allows for each poem to be discussed by the group with the one rule that the poet responsible cannot join in, at least not till the group is done with it.

I spend part of the morning deciding on the food for our guests on Saturday. Because I am at the Stanza in the afternoon, I have chosen things that I can prepare beforehand. As autumn draws on I’ve gone for plain but hearty food with a touch of lightness as a sweet. I shall be starting with couscous stuffed beef tomatoes, followed by beef Bourguignon. The finishing dish is strawberry prosecco jelly with a touch of Greek yogurt and a smidgen of honey. Cheese board to follow, with coffee and mints. I hope that my planning means that I can time my Stanza and the meal in harmony.

A friend rings me on her way to the golf course and we have time to chat about the letter she sent me. She is in the process of moving house so there is much to do and to consider while dealing with the slowness of the process. She arrives at her golf club and we cease our conversation. Another friend sends me a link to the explanation of the energy cap arrangements, so I finally grasp what the caping system actually does. I still need the winter energy strategy and that means next month I shall treat myself to one of those blankets with arms and a hood. I have found one that is covered in leopard’s heads. So come October I shall be pursuing my dream blanket.

The postman arrives and to my great satisfaction my new seal ring has arrived. I am like a child with a new toy and open it immediately. It is bright and shiny and I cannot wait to get it onto my finger. Yes of course there are pictures:

It is strange how much I am relieved to have my seal ring on my finger again. It is as if I have regained part of myself. My partner goes to see her mother and I go to the Shed where I have a letter to send. I use my seal ring for the first time and then I hot foot it over to the post office to send my letter on its way. While visiting the Shed I check the hedgehog canteen but none of the food has gone, so the hedgehog I photographed a couple of days ago appears to have been passing through. By the time the garden guy turns up my partner arrives back from her visit, so I set the gardener the chore of mowing the lawns as I was aware that it was forecast rain over the next couple of days and we would be running out of opportunities to get the last mow of the season done. As it turns out I was right, the mowing got done just as a shower arrived. My next task is to put the covers over the garden furniture. I do not think we are in for an Indian autumn, and I do not see me sitting outside much from now on.

My partner makes the evening meal while I write my shopping list for Saturday’s meal. We eat and then she goes off to the office for her online singing lesson and I begin the drafting of the blog. My evening will drift a bit as I blog, read, catch up on some TV before getting myself to bed. I have a COVID booster jab booked for tomorrow, so I am hoping that I wake up without the excesses of a cold.

Wednesday and I leap out of bed at 7 o’clock as my feet look forward to the chiropodist. It’s a real treat and worth the early rise, shower and leisurely breakfast. I drive to the chiropodist who is always chatty and down to earth. A good warm foot soak in a magic brew and then the pampering starts. I am scraped, sanded, clipped and filed before being disinfected and oiled. Itis a glorious way to spend half an half hour.

I drive home via the petrol station and fill my partners car. I get back and retrieve the now empty trash bin and make a pot of herbal tea. Then I am off to the Shed to be creative. I am practicing my Chinese characters. Today I have focused on Yugen, which signifies a profound awareness of the universe that triggers feelings too deep and mysterious for words.

It is a difficult symbol to get right, and I spend a long time practicing it. My intention is to put it on a small artists board. Before I can undertake the task I get a phone call from a friend and we spend a long time chatting and catching up. Lots of family stuff and also I had revealed to me how I can get the most out of my Tesco points. Apparently, it is possible to upgrade their value for other things other than food. I shall explore this. After a long and enjoyable chat I have lunch. The ring people call me and tell me my new ring is ready and if I am in tomorrow, they will send it. I am very happy to be in tomorrow to get my new ring and the news puts me in a good mood .

Back in the Shed I work on my symbol and at last commit it to the board using ink and brush. I am not happy with it. I instantly do not like my effort. I paint over it with ink and decide to draw the symbol in chalk and then fix it. I have to wait for the inked board to dry so I write a letter while I wait for this to happen. I post the letter picking up envelopes and fruit pastilles on the way and return home to the Shed. I take my dried board and chalk the Yugen characters on to it. It works and I spray it with fixative. Time to return to the house but not before checking the hedgehog food I put out. It is still there, so my hedgehog has not found the new sight yet.

Back at my laptop I check my emails and find the link to the Poetry Society Stana meeting has been sent to me. There is the invitation and with it the further invitation to submit a poem for the group to criticise and give feedback on. I spend time deciding if I should or not but, in the end, send them my Swinfen Duckling poem, one of my Herod’s Children (competition failures).

Ducklings at Swinfen
In the midst of wire, ducklings
Following their mother
Across a pond of tarmac.
Hunched ducks dotted around,
Not paddling, not swimming, sitting.
No water to be seen, just black stuff
Rimmed by trodden green.
Dependant, hurrying bundles staying close,
Amongst the lost boys,
And their guards.
This all taken as a matter of fact,
To me a wonder.
In all the places to find
New life in such array.
This was the last place,
That scuttling, piping, urgency of survival
And dependency.
Yet mother chooses prison
To bring her children 
To safety and to life.
Astounding, but ignored.
That’s prison for you.

I will be interested to see what they say. I’ve seen some poems from other members. Not my cup of tea so far but they maybe as reticent as me about making public their trickier works. I did consider sending my poem that starts “What a cunt Fern Cotton is” but thought this might be a bit reckless in the circumstances. That’s the sort of poem I will save for a live performance. The evening creeps up on me and I am suddenly feeling tired and headachy. Paracetamol and a quiet evening are what lays before me, perhaps a hint of football and a drama but I shall be in bed early tonight. I am excited by the prospect of feeling that I have retrieved that part of me the seal ring represents. Tomorrow will be a good day.

Tuesday and I am writing this at the end of a day when I have run out of energy. I have cleaned the house, emptied bins, cleared the kitchen, discovered the hedgehog is still alive, cooked the evening meal and attended a meeting on Zoom. I’ve calculated energy costs, and now I am beyond saying anything cogent about the experience. I had intended to train but ran out of spoons. Tomorrow, I go to the chiropodist early and then the day is mine to use. It seems time is slipping by and I am not paying enough attention to that.

Monday, royal funereal day, and I finally wake up at about 10 o’clock and find my way to coffee and toast. I settle down in front of the TV and get mesmerised by the sound of the pageant in front of me. That consistent hypnotic beat that pervaded everything was an interesting element. I became interested in the chequered floors of the various venues and wondered about the relevance of the black adn white chequer design that was in them all. Of course I google it and get an interesting surprise. Apparently, it is hugely symbolic and it became more intriguing when I discovered the centrality of it in the Masonic symbolism.

Always there is something that pops up to surprise me in these situations. The family breaks for lunch and to chat and then we get back to the final burial at Windsor. So that was the day until the evening brings dinner, more Paddington and time to read and reorientate. Tomorrow its back to the real world and an Elders meeting. I also need to train, it’s been too long, and I can wait no longer to feel “right”, now has to be the time to get going again.