Grimbeau

The day spreads out gray and joyless, do I care about being attended to, killing off the morning in small talk. Hunger as we roll on ten.

Bennett writes in his diary about just doing the writing, even he in his exalted status comes back to this point. Beneath the comfy slipper and old cardigan exterior is a steely heart: this one is leaden.

Pollop passes with the morning; must eat. Hanging out with Billie & Charlie; set up a BT online wotsit. Friday: tefal time, glad of a bit of feedback nonetheless, contact if nothing else on the inward trip – there ain’t nowhere else to go; try to remember how mobile one is. If you don’t use IT, you lose it. Poems, immersion in words and sounds as long as you can.

Trying to catch beach epiphanies, fishing in my back pages, sinking down, pearlfishing in the silt where the sole sleeps: beach combing. Sound and shape, I want a sunny one. Selsey is wintry, Rocks is winter, Trevose is dusk, Golden is gloaming. Remember Inch, where did that go. High Cliff is hot and sunny, but uncomfortable. Worm is January/ February. Sleepy Sherkin Cove by the maritime station, that’s the one; though all those days of film work were so sunny. Remember, try to remember, the summer. There were good times!