Right, I’ve just posted off six photocopies of my left hand to a poet friend, Sean Burn. He’s doing a text/visual/sound/performance piece based loosely on the Universal Charter for Human Rights, (why did he want my left I wonder!) Anyway, that’s the kind of thing us poets do for/to each other.
Other than another couple of meetings with the ‘Friends of North Lodge Park’ and trying to encourage them to be as mad as me and write about holly leaves as if were elf shoes, I’ve not been rushing around too much this last week – good job, because the labrinthytis has flared up again, so I’m dizzy in every sense of the word.
As I say, I’m back to pondering the sea and it got me to thinking about why some beaches have sand and some don’t. The only conclusion I’ve come up with is that some beaches are older than others, so the waves have had a longer time to move the particles back and forth and make them into smooth sand. If anybody knows any other explanation post it below, I’d be grateful.
I’m back with my Foggy Furzers on Monday night and also meeting up with Stuart and Alex who’re doing a special adaptation of ‘The Works’ book for me to take into schools. (i.e. a version with the rude poems taken out), though it will include ones about old fashioned Fairy soap, poss tubs and days of no telly. Kids in school now don’t believe you when you talk of days when there was no electricity. Oh but I remember them so well. The gentle hiss of the gas mantle; hand figures on the wall in the flickering light of a real coal fire; a big mug of Ovaltine…. sorry, where was I….
Back to reality and the sad news that The Pope died at half past eight this evening. I wrote an Ode about him just a few months ago, it hasn’t been submitted or published anywere, what a shame. He was a lovely man and I’m sure he was more than prepared for this, his final journey.