November 20, 2016
May 22, 2016
Diary 22nd May
Sunday is a day for silence and secrets.
Last night was raucous, drunken fun: we eat far too much, laughed far too much, and drank vino collapso until it was coming out of our ears.
Outside the restaurant the night was velvet soft, shimmering with this micro-fine drizzle; all the street lights were gem-starred. From the south you could smell the sea, conjuring images of crabs claws and hawsers – the sea despite rejection returns again and again to kiss the sandy shore.
My head flooded with the warm dark…Intoxicated with wine and the scent of women and the taste of the sea carried on the faintest of breezes. We went on a pub crawl…
Hazy memories of Karaoke – some of the worse singers I’ve ever heard. Gay young men, topless, laughing. Two girls kissing. Then after midnight our trip home…
Relax in the darkness or it will drown you. Breathe easy or it’ll flow into your lungs and choke you from inside out. Let your arms and legs float free to the surface…For once the darkness seems limited, ribbon-thin, without danger…All the predators sleeping.
March 20, 2016
Diary 20th March
Sunday, day of rest…Or, alternatively, of wild sexual activity. You choose…
It is sweet to drink, but bitter to pay for…
Earlier: ‘Oh Christ…’ half-whispered in the semi-light, desperate, as we fell together in each other’s arms, and discovered how much darkness there is at the periphery of our world. My eyes on yours. Voodoo doll’s eyes. Skin on skin. Shadows of trees on the blinds behind us…We struggled with the soft curves of sleep, hip to hip…like splinters under each other’s skin.
In my study/workroom/cave open a box of…Of what? Old crap. Photographs and papers. My first wife smiling into the camera, eyes vague as marble. Old friends, only half-remembered now…
An exercise book, maybe ten thousand years old. Look at the notes within, my youthful, spider-like handwriting:
‘In iambic metres an unstressed end-rhyme will almost always be an unstressed hyperbeat (the only other possibility is for it to be catalectic, omitting the last beat)…’
Ah, what sagacity perished here!
Friday night a swarthy man turned up at the front door, just after ten o’clock. He had a large blue plastic box in his arms.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Is this number twelve?’ he asked.
He stood carefully watching me from under thick dark lashes. Then he asked my postcode. I told him, bemusedly.
‘What is it you want?’ I finally asked.
‘I have your order of food. Tandori.’
‘Not mine,’ I said.
‘Ah, he said. It must be for number one. They order Tandori every other night for delivery. I’ll take it there…’
I closed the door and returned to the lounge. Two minutes later Dee and Gabriella looked round the door. ‘We ordered an Indian take away…’
‘Oh, I’ve sent it off…’
‘No, the guy phoned my cell from outside. We came down and got it. Sorry, we should have told you. There’s some veggie stuff, if you’re interested…’
Life can be so feckin’ confusing. Especially when other people are involved.
D’you think snails have feet…?
We might try and fit in another fancy dress party before our Sicily trip in June. We sat last night discussing themes, which became increasingly extreme and bizarre…
Te fuiste y te llevaste mi armadura…
We’re out for lunch today, so I asked: ‘What d’you want to do this evening?’ Answer: ‘Watch a DVD while you eat me out…’
Three nuns were talking together. The first nun said, “I was cleaning in the Father’s room the other day and do you know what I found? A bunch of pornographic magazines.”
“What did you do?” the other nuns asked.
“Well, of course I threw them in the trash.”
The second nun said, “Well, I can top that. I was in the Father’s room putting away the laundry and I found a bunch of condoms!”
“Oh my!” gasped the other nuns. “What did you do?” they asked.
“I poked holes in all of them!” she replied. And the third nun fainted.
(laughter tape again)
A dyslexic man walks into a bra…
(More taped laughter.)
A man and a woman were having drinks when they got into an argument about who enjoyed sex more. The man said, ‘Men obviously enjoy sex more than women. Why do you think we’re so obsessed with getting laid?’
‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ the woman countered. ‘Think about this…when your ear itches and you put your finger in it and wiggle it around, then pull it out, which feels better – your ear or your finger?’
March 14th was Algernon Blackwood’s 147th birthday…I forgot to mention it.
Slow fade out…