150/2023

They lived a flight of stairs
Up from my parents’ flat in
Germany, the American soldier
And his wife. I was a young boy.
She called one of her cakes dreamy.
I thought she was, those trousers
And the smooth face and accent.
Looking at pictures now, decades
On, I wonder why I thought she
Was like that cake.

R 29/05/2023 19:20

Whether or not this should be written in a public space, I feel very low in spirits right now. I had been looking forward to this final long weekend of May, looking forward to getting a decent rest, having time to potter with Madge The Spitfire, get some writing and marketing done, but have instead wrestled the whole time with the pain in my back and the accompanying (and probably related) malfunctioning of my intestines. I feel bad about this, because many of my friends are dealing with much more serious health issues (is this a sign of my age?). And the persistent coldness of the weather (and the unfriendliness of the skies) when we should be being caressed by spring, is an incredible dampener on the soul.

On the upside, I went to a publishing fair at Dragon Hall (the National Centre For Writing) yesterday, and met lots of interesting and friendly people. The problem is – we don’t live in an age where art for art’s sake is enough for decent voices to be heard.