How the week ends
Jul. 29th, 2007 12:10 pmYesterday was another of those odd, rare, fugitive events, a Day Off; I seem to have had three this month, idle flibbertigibbet that I am. I went down to York,courtesy of
durham_rambler and
shewhomust, to rendezvous with
fjm and celebrate her birthday with a picnic, in company with
chilperic (is this Miss Chilperic from 'Gaudy Night', I wonder? Must ask...) and others whose LJ names - if any - I do not know. Can there be anyone who is not on LJ? And if so, why?
Today is more familiar: I am home, and working. Trying to mend a broken story, before I have to read it on Thursday (Summer Phantoms! At the Phil! Lit & Phil, 6.30, Thursday evening! Are you coming? Why not?). However, I have also harvested my shallots and laid them out as is proper to dry off for a day or two in the sunshine - and mirabile dictu, there is sunshine! Intermittent and not over-warm, but sunshine none the less. Fie on these missing summers, I say...
Also, after a trudge across the moors to shuffle broken story-pieces in my head, I came home to a boxful of fresh vegetables on my doorstep, grown by the delicious Gerry, partner of the magnificent Sean (whom you can also hear on Thursday, reading a new ghost story! Summer Phantoms! With a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, no less! How can you not be coming?).
And this evening I'm going to see Kris Kristofferson at the Sage. Not an obvious passion - so all my rather baffled friends keep telling me - but I was a devotee as a teenager (can it have been that long rangy body in faded denim...? No, surely not. As with all my passions all my life, it started with the voice: both the physical and the lyrical. For me it's all and always about the words. Legs come later), and I've never seen him live. May not get another chance, so when Gail offered, whoo yeah. I'm there.
Not such a bad weekend at all, really. So long as I can fix this verdamte story...
Today is more familiar: I am home, and working. Trying to mend a broken story, before I have to read it on Thursday (Summer Phantoms! At the Phil! Lit & Phil, 6.30, Thursday evening! Are you coming? Why not?). However, I have also harvested my shallots and laid them out as is proper to dry off for a day or two in the sunshine - and mirabile dictu, there is sunshine! Intermittent and not over-warm, but sunshine none the less. Fie on these missing summers, I say...
Also, after a trudge across the moors to shuffle broken story-pieces in my head, I came home to a boxful of fresh vegetables on my doorstep, grown by the delicious Gerry, partner of the magnificent Sean (whom you can also hear on Thursday, reading a new ghost story! Summer Phantoms! With a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, no less! How can you not be coming?).
And this evening I'm going to see Kris Kristofferson at the Sage. Not an obvious passion - so all my rather baffled friends keep telling me - but I was a devotee as a teenager (can it have been that long rangy body in faded denim...? No, surely not. As with all my passions all my life, it started with the voice: both the physical and the lyrical. For me it's all and always about the words. Legs come later), and I've never seen him live. May not get another chance, so when Gail offered, whoo yeah. I'm there.
Not such a bad weekend at all, really. So long as I can fix this verdamte story...