Have had an easy-ish day today. Popped to see Gladys this morning, and she was quite lively, though did get muddled about which day it was, and why I'd come to see her on a Friday, when I usually visit on a Thursday. Can't say I blame her - everything seems something of a muddle at the moment. And I don't even have particularly advancing years to blame it on.
On my way back, I did a spot of shopping in Godalming (my, how Surrey I am sounding today - somebody pass the Pimm's and the butler. In that order ...), and managed to restock on all those little essential bath oils that one absolutely can't live without - though I fear my search for more wasp nest killer was unsuccessful. They've sold out - bloody hell, there must be battalions of the beasts around at the moment. Even with all this rain.
Back home, I rewrote my article on women writing gay fiction (I think it's new working title is "An opposite life", which I much prefer to my first working title) to add in all the wonderful input given to me by Erastes - thanks, Erastes! I'm hoping to get the views of other female writers of gay fiction in due course and then see if I can sell it anywhere.
I've also just finished Dorothy Molloy's poetry collection, Gethsemane Day. Hmm, not a patch on her first one, Hare Soup. Which was truly wonderful. I'd give GD a miss and buy HS, if I were you. And I've also read through the latest editions of "Brittle Star", "Roundyhouse" and "Envoi" poetry magazines. "Brittle Star" is far and away the best, to my mind. I fell wildly in love with Pat Borthwick's "Visit" (about a moth in a room) which is just magical and extremely strong. And Kate Noakes' "Woman" was also stunning. Funnily enough, Kate Noakes also turned up in "Roundyhouse" (go, Kate, go!!) but I didn't like that offering as much. But, hey, I was alert enough to notice - so don't knock it!
Tonight, I'm off to London to see Jane W. Where I shall find out all about her latest holiday (to Turkey), and tell her all my news. After which, we shall get pissed as newts (or Lords? Hell, can't remember which it is and can't be arsed to worry about it anyway), eat Indian food (I hope) and then roll home late. Hurrah! Lord H has kindly agreed to pick me up from the station (whichever station I end up at ...) and not to complain about the smell of stale Indian food (much).
And, bloody hell, but I'm pooped. Already!
Today's nice things:
1. Getting more to grips with the article
2. Thinking about poetry
3. Seeing Jane W.
Pink Champagne and Apple Juice