Friday in haste

Okay, I’ve had the runner’s high, and I’ve had the runner’s low… I’ve been to Memphis and I’ve been to physio… The ankle seems to be actually improving. It’s more mobile, anyway. Hurrah! (The pain now seems to be because I’m challenging the muscle. Soon I’ll get it to play scrabble with me.)

I had two meetings in town yesterday that almost made me feel like a real person again, though neither has YET resulted in any money; and a very nice evening in with spaghetti and the famous Baroque meatballs, and a lovely morning in, complaining about Anthony Minghella*… The Virgin Media man came and replaced my set-top box AND my modem, and identified a dodgy scart lead – or is it a dodgy scart port? Or a scary dog cart? (Apparently only its hairdresser can tell for sure.)

And my new swimming costume arrived off the internet (prudently purchased with the autumnal gasp pf my savings account, in advance of the advancing postal strike); and it is PERFECT. The first actual respectable swimming costume your correspondent has owned in probably 15 years. I love it. It’s black. It’s cute. It doesn’t come from a charity shop. And it FITS.

The fledgling plan to get rich by eBaying my signed, limited-edition 1955 copy of The Apes of God, v good+, however, has come to not much. Mainly because of eBay’s draconian policy of not allowing reserves under £50, which strikes me as a bit pointless. After all, it would matter to me very deeply whether it went for say £48.50 (this would be fine) or £15 (this wouldn’t). Ditto my Pound first, Section Rock-Drill 85-93 de los Cantares, 1st English ed.,  good-v good…

And now, too much to do. LOTS to do. A website to write. People to email. Henry and Oscar to quell. Things to get into the post. Lots of things to organise in advance of me being away next week.

Yes, me! Going away! It’s intensely exciting. (That’s not counting the attendent terror; remember the last time I went anywhere, by the time I got back you couldn’t even get the door open for teen rubbish? The cleaner still talks about it.) (When I have a cleaner, which is actually not right now. Being strictly accurate.) Where am I going? I’m going on a course set up by the Poetry School, in conjunction with the Arvon Foundation, on running poetry workshops. I sort of think I’m already pretty good at running poetry workshops, but that is a purely natural aptitude, and as I like doing it better than most of the other things I have ever done, I want to get really good at it. When I come back I hope to become an unstoppable workshop phenomenon. Meantime, think of me nestled in the hills of Yorkshire, soaking up the vibes, perfecting my workshop technique while I quell Hen & Osc… I know it’s a workshop week but I am kind of hoping to get some real writing done. And there will be no internet.

But I will see that you are catered for. I will write blog posts this weekend and they will spring upon you all as if by magic, throughout the week. They should I hope cover some of the stuff I’ve been promising for ages but haven’t done. What is the real difference between poetry and prose? That’s one of them.

Now back to work.

* Is it okay to do that again yet? It really is so fun. Clearly it is the movies one complains about, which are surely still fair game.

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