Sunday, October 6th
I took Winnie out for a long walk this morning. It wasn’t the best of weather, but I felt like I needed the fresh air and leg work. Sometimes I think I’m too sedentary. Is that the right word? It sounds wrong, and a bit medical. But it’s of no consequence. Nobody’s going to check.
I like this:
Come and look at the happiness; trees in the cooling breezes
Are tossing their branches
Like dancers’ hair and with sunshine and rain the sky
Is playing on the earth
As though joy had hands and were raising a loud music
And light and shadows,
Pass in succession and harmony over the hills
Away like the myriad
Notes that swarm in a loving quarrel
Over a lute.
A bit of me wishes I could write that sort of thing, but I can’t. The reason I can’t is, I think, because I would never see the world that way, even though I’d like to, all of which is (I’m pretty sure) stating the bleeding obvious.
Melissa telephoned. I forget why.
Tuesday, October 8th
Once a month we get a visit from a man in a van who sells fresh fish. I can never remember his name, but it’s of no consequence. I think Cook has a soft spot for him, because he always seems to spend an inordinate long time with her in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a cake and they’re always guffawing at something or other. But I’ll say this: he sells excellent fish, and Cook always makes some decent choices. On his van there’s a slogan. Under his name (whatever it is) it says “Not just a fish merchant.” I always think about asking him what else he is besides a fish merchant, but I don’t want to risk getting into a conversation where I might find myself out of my depth. He might be a contract killer. Or worse, he could be a poet. So I keep my distance.
Melissa telephoned. She wanted to know if I needed to buy any toys as gifts for Christmas, because she knows a man etc. Toys? Toys?
Wednesday, October 9th
I took Winnie with me and had lunch at The Crumpled Old Man – a ploughman’s and a pint of best bitter, quite traditional and old school. The landlord there likes Winnie, and always gives her a bowl of water and some kind of meaty treat, the big softie. It rained on us on the walk back, and we arrived home somewhat sodden.
Melissa telephoned. She was complaining about “the youth” in the neighbourhood. At least, that’s what Cook told me. She took the call. And Cook said that what Melissa said was of no consequence. That’s a turn up for the books!
Algernon Tenderloin stopped by to tell me he’d be stopping by again soon to let me have a copy of his new slim volume of verse. These slim (and sometimes not so slim) volumes of his come along at quite a rate. He’s what they call ‘prolific’. Some also say “not very good”. But I keep my own counsel.
Thursday, October 10th
Today while browsing my bookshelves I stumbled upon a book I didn’t realize I had: a Penguin edition of Martial’s “The Epigrams”. I must have picked it up second-hand, because it’s well-worn and someone has underlined all the dirty bits in it, and it wasn’t me, guv, honest. They are sometimes quite dirty:
Cocks like wet leather that won’t get a stand on
However hard your hand pumps.
They are also immensely readable, commentating on what the Introduction lists as Rome’s “shops, amphitheatres law, courts, lavatories, temples, schools, tenements, gardens, taverns and public baths. Its dusty or muddy streets filled with traffic, religious processions and never ending business, its slaves millionaires. prostitutes, philosophers, quacks, balls, touts, dinner-cadgers, fortune hunters, poetasters, politicians and layabouts.” I’m planning to steal some of that for a poem. Don’t tell anybody!
Melissa telephoned. I was reading at the time, one-handed.
I can’t think of anything else to write. Probably nothing of any consequence happened today.
Friday, October 11th
Melissa telephoned. Cook answered because I was in the middle of breakfast. She should know better than to phone before 11.
Dominic Borderline dropped by, but I’m not sure why. I think he must have been at a loose end, because he had nothing to say, no conversation, and spent most of his hour-long visit staring out of the window. I suspect there’s some kind of inconsequential anguish in his domestic life. Whatever may be going on in that arena may be of consequence to him but it’s of no consequence to me, and I was relieved when he heaved a great sigh and said he had to be going.
Saturday, October 12th
I’m not saying if it’s of any consequence or not, but the works of genius I sent in response to an invitation from a place that has always been good to me in the past, and whose people have always somewhat championed my work . . . well, they have been declined, with a note from the editors to say they’re wondering if I have anything else I could send. Well, I do, but I’m not going to, and they can bloody well wonder on. I sent them good stuff. I only have good stuff. I am affronted. (I think that’s the word.)
Melissa telephoned. The call went unanswered, because Cook was out and I couldn’t be bothered. Cook had said she needs a new chopping-board, and that she needed to go into town to find something suitable from a specialist store. Are there specialist chopping-board stores? Anyway, I think she might have mentioned this before when I wasn’t paying attention, but she started in on a long explanation of how a decent cook can’t use just any old chopping board and she was going on and on and . . . Just go, I said. I wasn’t really in the mood to listen.
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James Henderson (Gentleman)
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