(I have been told by several people that they have enjoyed reading extracts from my journals. I am happy to place before the general public more of those parts of my jottings that are suitable to be read by the general reader, subject to the usual age restrictions etc. as required by law. A great deal may be learned from how I live my life. Some private privacies, however, must remain private, and nobody can read those. Even I am not allowed to read those.)
Monday
It is the not yet the middle of the month, but a family along the road already has their Halloween decorations festooning the house: “bloody” handprints on the windows, fake cobwebs draping the gate and wall, warnings on the door written in “blood” saying not to enter “for fear of death” . . . Do not enter? The last thing I would want to do is enter that house. These people are the imbeciles who last year had their Christmas decorations and lights up (inside and out) on Guy Fawkes Day. A painful and gruesome end would be too good for them.
Wednesday
Browsing in the local library this afternoon I was appalled to find a book entitled “99 Erics” by one Julia Serano. It was subtitled “a faux novel”, which suggested that it claimed to be something cleverly arty. Further investigation revealed the following: ”Kat Cataclysm is an ethically non-monogamous bisexual woman and absurdist short fiction writer who embarks upon writing a book called 99 Erics, chronicling her experiences dating ninety-nine different people named Eric.” I did not borrow the book to read it. I had already read enough.
Monday (No, and since you ask, I am not dating these entries; it would be irrelevant, and I enjoy the idea of future historians and my biographers trying to outdo one another by dating precisely key events in my life. Besides, I don’t know what the date is.)
Changed the bed sheets etc. today. It felt like it was time.
Friday
I have received an invitation to participate in the regional invitational tatting tournament that is happening in December. One can only participate in it if one is invited, and only “star” tatters are ever invited. I do not know whether or not I shall go. Going out into the cold and travelling to another town in December is not really very inviting. Which reminds me: I need to check if it’s likely that my thermals will see me through another Winter or if I need a fresh pair.
Saturday
Our tatting group went on a day out today to Tattershall. It is a pleasant enough little place, but sadly appears to have no historical links with the art of tatting, so I do not really know why we went there. I took a packed lunch, and the landlord of the inn which we visited for a lunchtime shandy objected to my eating my sandwiches on his premises. We had something of a debate (argument), and by the time it finished I had also finished my lunch, and so it was a win for me.
Sunday
I knocked out a few poems today while the roast was in the oven. This is the best one:
KITCHEN PHILOSOPHY
after Seamus Heaney
The toaster
has a bloody mind
of its own
said Socrates
while the kettle
makes so much noise
you can’t hear your-
self think
.
Eric Eric
(Poet, Tatter, Daytripper, not always in that order)
.