Empty Chest Syndrome

That’s what I’ll have pretty soon, the rate I’m coughing up phlegm.  Sorry, that’s probably too much info for this time on a Friday morning, though it is one reason I’m writing to you and not broadcasting – don’t feel up to doing a vid today.  You should have been at drama last night where I read some of my poem, ‘The Lady in the Van’.  I did it once straight, then was asked to do it in the voice of a Hyacinth Bucket, which was kinda fun.  Had a Speckled Hen afterwards in the bar, too.

Jolly good.

The memoir is coming along.  I forgot I’d already written one called ‘The Garden of my Grandfather’.  It’s about the bungalow our grandparents had in Sussex, and the holidays we had down there.  We went every year and those holidays were like markers in my childhood, every year bringing something different; something I couldn’t do before.  Going in a rowing-boat rather than a little motor-boat: growing out of the little steam trains; becoming interested in boys and finding there were hardly any around; running away one year and getting as far as the park before a police car drew up.  I’m editing it to send to Mslexia, though I don’t know if they’ll like it.  They don’t tend to like my stuff and I can’t put my finger on why.  Apart from that the novel needs to be ready in a week or so; plus I have swapped out some of the sonnets for some different forms, so the poetry collection will go off soon.  Maybe even today.

50 Shades of Grey Hair

At drama last night we were asked to describe each other again.  Some people found this quite hard – not so much describing another person but being looked at closely and described.  Naturally we were all polite, but Nadine – who isn’t – insisted we state the obvious and say if someone is fat or has bad skin or greasy hair.  I can see where she was coming from with this but I’m not sure everyone was comfortable with it and it seems a bit of a risky strategy to me.  In a group where everyone knows each other really well; or where everyone is highly confident, it would work; but I’m not sure that’s the case here.  Anyway, it struck me that although there are older people there no-one is grey (including me) because we have all dyed our hair, although my roots (smug mode alert) seem to indicate that I’m not going grey yet.  Our father didn’t go grey till he was in his 70′s so there you are.  Mine is bleached – and was once pink – but most people at drama seemed to favour henna.  I’ve never really gone in for henna.

And now off to the coal-face.  I mean, type-face…

LOL

Kirk out

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