Bonhomie / Bedding Plants

Bonhomie

Leamington Garret. Beautiful, sunny morning, 6.55am by Big Ken. I awoke at six feeling rested, although not having slept as much as I would have liked. Found it hard nodding off last night.

I started to think how difficult it could be to sort out a flatmate for myself here. I have agreed to find one at my own expense, even though it is the landlord’s responsibility. Perhaps I can do it via the internet. I must ask him to get the storage heaters fixed before we sign a new contract.

Otherwise it will be beastly cold here in the winter. The other problem I was fretting about was that John is planning to take his washing machine when he leaves, which means there will be none here – that won’t help in finding someone. I need to start looking soon for someone with stuff.

Then there is the – opposite – problem of the London Garret: resisting a new tenant! I pray I can simplify my life in the next year or so.

My back is somewhat better. If I could lose half a stone, it would probably be all right now. I must try next week.

Not particularly looking forward to the Day-Job today. Meeting after meeting after meeting. Also have to sort out the MOT for the Last Word and do a trillion other things before travelling back to the Lewes Garret.

When I got in last night, I changed and showered and was in the Jug (pictured) by 10.30pm. Music was good, as always. A true summer jam.

Bedding plants (Flashback to Saturday, 27 May 2006)

Lewes Garret 8.25pm. Itsy bitsy day, with a list of tasks, but little energy or strength. Have swallowed a vast cocktails of supposedly medicinal pills. Probably part of the problem. I am currently trying to turn the picture of Marina meeting Camilla into a screensaver for this laptop. That will surprise the lady who recently accused me – ridiculously - of being anti-royalist!

(It is not going well; the iBook does not like scanning in big images, for reasons unknown).

I felt immensely tired this morning and did not perk up despite a visit to Grange Gardens, to snaffle some gratis bedding plants, a church hall jumble sale, and the newsagent’s. Marina was mentioned in one paper, the Brighton Argus, which reported, on its centre spread, that she had presented Camilla with flowers outside Anne of Cleves House.

Seemed good enough to me. At home, everyone was delighted with the Brighton Argus piece. I have put the Brighton Argus / Camilla cutting in my box file for work and events of 2006.

Otherwise I feel listless. I should be reading the Capital Gains Tax book to discern what to do about the London Garret. But I cannot be bothered. I feel slightly nauseous and the Alan Clark Diaries and my computers are no longer enticing.

I am trying to mess with the memory to make the scanner work better, but, frankly, I haven’t a clue about what I am doing. I wonder if upping the available RAM (whatever that is) would help.

Return to Cotesbach (Flashback to Wednesday, 7 June 2006).

Last night (6 June), when I returned to my room in the Lewes Garret at midnight, according to Big Ken, I felt absolutely fantastic for the first time in weeks.

My visit to Cotesbach was idyllic. My dear friend Tom was so welcoming, as were the others: Jane, Phil, Taciturn Tom, Elise and Dave. We sat outside on a perfect summer’s night, drinking ale, talking, laughing, and, later, playing Staghorn (I beat Tom, scooping the pot, after suddenly finding my form).

It is wonderful to feel old friendship, particularly in a place as beautiful as the Cotesbach estate. I took some digital photographs, particularly of Tom tiling the roof the latest house he is building, Tom’s eldest daughter Letty, and Elise, who has beautiful long legs quite apart from being a lovely person.

As I happily drove back to the Leamington Garret, I opened the sun roof to allow the balmy summer’s air to flood in and turned up my Oasis tape on the stereo to full volume.

Back in Leamers, the streets were full to bursting with attractive, chavvy women, pissed out of their tiny minds of course, falling off their stiletto heels, and generally making asses of themselves. Their blokes were worse. This is a typical Wednesday night in Leamington.

Despite the fear of being assaulted by thugs, I could not resist a visit to the kebab shop for a small doner.

I really needed tonight. I felt uttered exhausted all day at work, and cycling from the Day-Job to the under-the-arches garage was sheer hell. My back was torture by the time I’d got there, and I was feeling increasing annoyed that John had managed to knacker up the front brakes, making it a most hazardous ride. (My car mechanic kindly fixed this).

Perhaps it should be reassuring to me that John treats my possessions with the same wanton recklessness that he employs on his own.

He was in when I got home. We had a brief chat. He has started calling me ‘mate’ again. His job interview today went well, he said, and he asked about my job. I told him about the do in London tomorrow, saying, I suspect, too much, as he started to look bored.

I should be able to forgive him. In fact I have forgiven him. What I am unable to do is have the same open, transparent and caring relationship with him as I strived for before. Once bitten, twice shy. I cannot leave myself exposed in the same way again.

If I do, what he has done to me twice will happen over and over again - every time he gets pissed and/or stoned.

Big Ken says it is now 12.22am today (Wednesday). I am glad 6/6/6 – Satan’s Sabbath – is over. Won’t come round again for 100 years.

I am quite looking forward to my day out in London on the morrow, although I need to get some sleep. I have been getting some good reaction to the website from friends.

Nick Awde emailed me to say he liked it, and I prize his opinion very highly.

I emailed the singer from last night saying I enjoyed her set, mentioning my site, suggesting she submit a poem, and put in a reciprocal link from her site to mine. I will probably never hear from her, even though I have sent her a fab picture of herself looking ethereal.

9.52am. Coventry – London Euston train. It was a truly spectacular morning at the Leamington Garret. I opened the windows in the living room to let the fragrant summer’s air cascade in. It really was glorious.

I had to go into the Day-Job office first to sort out a few urgent matters and then raced to Nightmare City to catch this train, populated largely by the unwashed on London awaydays. The oaf next to me does not understand that ‘Quiet Zone’ precludes the use of a mobile telephone.

This is an amazing time of year. Even Coventry Station, usually (as Larkin observed in one of his poems) one of the most depressing places on earth, looked attractive with the buttercups in yellow dance over the far side of the station.

I was moved to take a picture, and rather distracted by a young woman showing a remarkable amount of breast, including nipple. This is the time of year when girls can make the most of their assets in the hunt for the perfect mate. Even the unattractive can suddenly bloom and hit the gene-pool jackpot.

Here's the latest twist in the London Garret saga. The women do not want us to take back the room and allegedly have found an instant replacement for the girl who is leaving (suspected balls as it took them around three months last time). I am not too pleased by this.

I apologised to Francesca for not calling last night, and she said, ‘But you did call.’ It turns out that I accidentally knocked on my mobile telephone while playing Staghorn, and Francesca and Chloe listened to an entire game, ending in my glorious victory. How wonderful! It is the first time in the history of Staghorn that a game has been broadcast live!

What joys does today hold? I hope to get hold of my great friend Chris Bramble, a Rasta potter and brilliant bloke, and have a jar or two in the evening before heading back to Nightmare City and on to the Leamington Garret by bedtime.

Time to do some poetry.

4.11pm. easyInternetCafe, Tottenham Court Road, London W1. I have found this place to be absolutely useless for blogging. For a start, the computers don’t take USBs, and you have to leave your stuff, go downstairs and ask the guy to email the material to you.

Then Blogger.com does not work properly on these terminals, and I could not even FTP it to the simple blog on my site. Nothing is supported. What a total waste of two quid! If I chance upon fatty Stelios in the future, I shall bloody tell him what shite his internet café is in my humble opinion.

That off my chest, it has been a good day. I got the better of the slob Sun reader sitting next to me on the train. He kept putting his stuff on my side, and making loud mobile phone telephone calls to his unfortunate girlfriend. It was a Quiet Zone and everyone was getting pissed off, but, because he was such a brute, no one dared to say anything to the tosser.

Eventually, I cracked and turned to him and said: ‘Do you see that sign. It says ‘Quiet Zone’. You are not supposed to make mobile phone calls.’
He replied, with heavy sarcasm: ‘Really.’

So I immediately added: ‘Most people have sussed that one out on their own.’

That shut him up, but the smelly thug was evidently seething. He kept stabbing the table with his biro, clearly thinking about doing the same to me.

I got off the tube in London at Green Park and walked across the park, in intense sunshine, and watched the trooping of the colour (or whatever it is called) before arriving at the Goring Hotel. Very good venue indeed.

The Day-Job event went well, and the lunch was excellent. Scottish salmon, dill and caviar, followed by roast guinea fowl in chestnut fowl. Unfortunately, I managed to get the raspberry souffle on my newly drycleaned suit trousers. Had a glass of champagne, one of wine and one of red (all good stuff).
All things considered, a fine do.

It is oppressively hot outside. Some amazing sights: London women are the best at undressing when the heat is on. I love it. I just wish I had not bothered to bring my heavy leather jacket!

Now I must abandon this (in my view) useless internet café (I am writing this on my own laptop, having logged off the web in despair) to see my dear friend Chris Bramble in Kilburn.

8.35pm. London Euston to Coventry train. Had a great time with Chris (pictured in the pub we went to). He is looking very well and was in excellent form. He took me to a superb pub on Kilburn High Street called the Black Lion: spacious with a lovely carved ceiling and gorgeous bar maidens who serve you at your table.

Chris seemed to be a particular favourite of theirs at the Black Lion. I managed to keep my alcohol consumption down to a couple of pints of weak lager, so I should be all right to drive back from Coventry Station.

London was truly lovely tonight. Bright, hot sunshine; a cooling breeze; everyone looking their best, particularly in the Black Lion. I always remember Kilburn for the hard time I had there in the immediate aftermath of the IRA Docklands bombing in 1996, when I was despatched there by the Sunday Telegraph (where I was then a reporter) to assess Irish Republic reaction to the atrocity!

However, I have much happier memories of the part where Chris lives and works, and, as the sun went down tonight, it looked like a little bit of heaven on earth. God, I miss London!

I can see the woman opposite me is considering a management career with McDonalds. She has a shiny white bag with these words, in purple ink, printed upon it: ‘McCarried Away. We’re full of exciting opportunities.’ She is reading a booklet about it. I glimpsed the headline: ‘Hire the smile’ – one of management guru Tom Peters’ pearls of wisdom. Good luck to her.

Much as I dislike Virgin, I have to admit that this train is very well air conditioned and its alacrity could mean I am in the Leamington Jug & Jester jam night before closing time.

My thirst for entertainment is insatiable.

Oliver's Poetry Home

Oxford Don (Blog: Sunday, 28 May 2006)

Lewes Garret. 6.30pm. Tired out after a day entertaining Don, a very pleasant old college of Francesca, and his Mexican girlfriend.

7pm. Entertaining Don and his lovely senorita has quite taken it out of me. The day went well; Sunday lunch was very enjoyable; then we walked to Glynde, over Mount Caburn, and took the train back to Lewes. Conversation was mainly about technical subjects and Don and the senorita’s romance, other subjects seeming somehow inaccessible.

I did my back exercises and went swimming this morning and have had a good day with the pain, although my back is still as supple as an ironing board. I am tempted to go to salsa club tonight. I have not been for at least a month because of the injury, and yearn to get back to normal.

The back problem has had the positive effect of greatly reducing my previously vast alcohol intake, but I do not want to stop dancing and cycling for a long period. Like cuddles, they are very important to me.

I dropped my camera, the Nikon FM, this afternoon. God, I was annoyed with myself when I realised the shutter-release had jammed. I took the lens off and gave the mirror a good yank with a finger, and it sprang back into life. Just hope the lens’s elements are OK.

It has been a warm, sunny day. One of the few so far this year. Think I shall go back to the Leamington Garret tomorrow afternoon. I am paying a lot of money for it – I should try to get value.

It is 7.14 now. Time to go to salsa. Quick visit to the bathroom and I shall be off, probably to huge objections from Mrs Oliver and the kids. Possibly catch you later!

9.32pm. Back from salsa. I think I got away with it, although it remains to be seen how bad my back will be in the morning. I didn’t drink and learnt a couple of new moves. I talked to a couple of girls who read the magazine we do at the Day-Job. They suggested some possible ideas which I might try so that was very useful.

9.32pm. Back from salsa. The salsa club I attend in Lewes is called SalsaMagic and I haven't been for four weeks because of my back injury. SalsaMagic had changed little. It is a friendly and lovely club.

I was very touched by all the women dancers who asked where I'd been for the past month!

Oliver's Poetry