THIS.

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He asked me why i was so late
he was wearing a flowery hat
and
an apron around his waist
you're wearing an apron, i said
i know, he said
but he's not cooking i thought
how have you been anyway,
he asked as he opened his arms for a hug,
he gave good hugs
but he didn't listen to my answer
i'm trying to wrap up this guy who's been talking for ages

We got upstairs and
there was a guy talking into the mic
holding a Macbook in one hand
he squinted into the screen
and read
from the screen
he sounded bored
he was bored
a few people turned around
and acknowledged my arrival
with curious glances
and smiles
it was a writer's party
a sit down party
i was invited along because
there was people I had to meet
should meet
collab with maybe
a new project
something

i wasn't invited to dinner

As the night went on
i realised
something
these people
these writers
couldn't read
they
could not
retell
their stories
how beautifully tragic
they read

with
no
emotion
tripping over
lines which they had
(i assume)
carefully crafted
and it was dark and
i watched
and cringed
and listened
and smiled
and clapped quietly
when they were done

A couple
the girl wore
a dress and walking shoes
and i noticed that she had her shoes
propped up
next to my bag
there was a guy too
we were all sat at the back
and they whispered
through everyone

new space

i found a new space to work and distract myself. it's important to have that work: distraction balance. keeps us real: we're not robots.

i'm facing big windows which look out onto grey Sunday skies and little naked tree branches but Spring is in the air.

 

i am smoking out the place with this little red volcano. i burned little red volcanoes throughout my travels in S E Asia. i think it kept the mosquitoes away and it made the place smell great. i don't think i've ever taken a picture of that little guy. i found him in Bali. he looks a wee bit surprised. like a cat with a volcano on his back would i suppose.

ok it's smokey and lovely and incensy now so i should get back to it, and stop daydreaming.

what smells take you back?

a secret beach

It was a 5 minute walk down a track. We parked at the end of (the very aptly named) Beach Road. I was expecting a stretch of beach, a few moments of fresh sea air and then an about turn back to the car. Very good.

The track ends and there are several benches all facing out to sea. Perched atop a cliff looking down onto the open sea, sand as far as you can see and not a single soul in sight... A beach of ones own.

Look at the water. We need to go, I said.

We looked for the path and we saw two souls; a lovely old couple snuggling on a bench with a flask of tea between them. Lovely. I wish I had some tea, I said. We didn't need tea though not with a whole beach. There was a plaque tacked to the cliff in commemoration of the man who carved the path down to the beach. He was a good man. We said a quick thank you and then made our way down the path. Let's gooooo.

Apparently I can't run in a straight line...
Photo by L. Stokoe

I dropped my bag, took off my shoes and ran to the sea. It felt good. The only footprints in the sand. The water was freezing. The North Sea in March is very cold. Makes you feel alive. Your toes throb red in the cold and you find yourself squealing and puffing with the cold. ALIVE. I highly recommend it, but you'll have to find your own secret beach.

tomorrow

I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about yoga, and tomorrow.

The possibilities of tomorrow.

I have decided I’m goin to practise in my garden with the grass between my toes.

And the grass and the earth beneath my hands.

And fresh air!

Exciting.

I hope it doesn’t rain.