Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Sport

Day 239

Today I actually did things I wanted to do. Had a lie-in. Drove down to Stradbroke (and dropped A at work on the way). Watched the lads play cricket (they lost, unfortunately), had a bit of banter, had a good long chat with Marty (Radio Stradbroke Station Manager), finally picked up the goodies Wild Spelks sent me for having them constantly in my Top Three Hottest Records In the World Right Now since the beginning of May, and my song of the year so far (video – go watch and listen; it’s fab), had a sandwich watching cricket, and then wended my way back home (dropping said Marty on the way). It would have been nice to have a pint with the lads, but post-cricket drinks (especially when they start at 16:45) have a tendency of not staying in the singular. It was lovely to see all these people again, tinged with a bit of sadness, actually, because that now brown playing field (it will be green again when the rain comes, if it comes) remains my cricketing home.

It looks like M spent the day doing what she likes to do best – rearranging rooms, making new shelving units from the innumerable Ivar units we have (sawing side supports in half being one of the great hacks she’s discovered), moving more books out of my office and into the house so we can get some more books out of the sheds this weekend. And when I stepped into the office to start writing this, I noticed she’d hoovered as well, which makes the place look almost civilised. She is a superstar, and a doer, where I’m just a thinker most of the time nowadays (and not for want to trying to escape my impracticality). The last bits of rearranging will have to wait until all the work on the house is done. And then, well, I think we’ll both have the environments we crave (she in her house, and me in my office).

In the last few days I have almost automatically tried to add emojis to the narrative here. Weird. Because they have no place here.

It has been a good day so far. Thank you, universe.




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