Tuesday, 2 March 2010
From a London internet cafe
Kilburn, actually, which inevitably reminds me of Ian Dury's Kilburn and the High Roads (have I got that right?). Years ago a close friend lived here with his then wife, also a close friend. Then came time and tide and, without any arguments, without any hostility, a natural drifting. It's a sad thing. I - like many others, I suppose - have a fantasy of bumping into everyone I ever knew in some unexpected place, though I doubt that is likely to be Kilburn. It has however happened in London and Paris so anything is possible.
It's a busy time coming up. Having read in York and London on Saturday and Sunday respectively, I am reading here tonight, then in Thursday in Sheffield, and the following week in London and Leeds. Tonight is WordPLAY, surrounded by poets who are probably younger than my children. But then most of the world seems to be the age of my children.
It's just darkening here. Tomorrow is a clutch of meetings back in Norfolk. All work no play makes Jack a busy boy.