Interactive version of Oliver's Poetry Garret
Perfect Day
Saturday, 3 June 2006, Blog 1
Lewes Garret
9.33am. It is a perfect day; hot and beautiful. I slept like a log. My Beloved is going to the memorial service of Michael Gearin-Tosh. He was an English don at the University of Oxford, until his death from cancer in August last year, and taught her.
I hope it goes well. She also plans to meet a group of friends in the King's Arms (the KA), in Oxford, including a chap who once set up a private detective agency with the future TV star Chris Evans.
The day stretches ahead. I am taking my younger daughter Marina out to the seaside. I also want to drop into the offices of the local newspaper, the Sussex Express.
I picked up yesterday's edition and, lo and behold, there was a photograph of Marina meeting Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall! We were so proud! I bought another four copies, and must get hold of the original print.
I felt ill after tea yesterday. My workload and all the medical drugs have got on top of me. My chiropractor thinks I am getting better, although it is at no great rate. While she was pummelling my back, however, she entertained me with an amazing story about her dad.
Apparently her placid old man, a former pilot, got into a road rage incident with another old age pensioner. The other crone had been driving on the dad's tail and received the traditional salute from him. When the dad rolled up at a nearby service station, the other OAP appeared like an old bat out of hell and allegedly started battering his windscreen with his walking stick - so powerfully the cane broke in two.
Instead of doing the sensible thing of driving off (never get out of the car where road rage is concerned), the dad tried to tackle the raging oldster.
Predictably enough, he himself was battered and retreated to his car. What happened next is unclear, but somehow the other guy, who later said he was disabled, fell and hurt himself. He then went to the accident and emergency ward of the local hospital and complained to the police about the dad.
While I was lying almost naked in her surgery yesterday, my chiropractor told me her dad was now being interviewed by the police with an expectation that he would be let off with a caution. But, no, when she telephoned her dad, in my presence, it seemed he may be charged with assault. How unfortunate!
It has turned into the battle of the Victor Meldrews!
Albert Camus
Flashback to Thursday, 1 June 2006
Lewes Garret
10.14pm. Totally knackered! I have driven 370 miles today, over a period of eight hours, in between working frenetically in bright Welsh mountain sunshine and considerable heat. The Day-Job event went well. The Minister involved seemed a very nice guy - one of those big, good-looking, cool Welshmen.
I loved the drive there from Leamington; you could see the Brecon Beacons from about 50 miles away, and, motoring westward, the landscape became more and more beautiful. I stopped for breakfast in a garage straight out of the 1950s. Big greasy mechanics eating big greasy fry-ups. Not a word spoken!
At the do, I met a pleasant photographer. We were chatting as I unpacked my car and I told her about my brown case having belonged to Albert Camus. To my amazement she said: 'I did my dissertation on Camus while studying history in France.' Coincidence piles on coincidence. Extraordinary! The ghost of Albert Camus follows me everywhere.
Despite this, I have not really recovered from the incident with John. I think he has treated me despicably. I have never displayed such generosity, kindness and tolerance to anyone and been treated in such a shabby fashion. I feel my friendshp has been betrayed; my trust absolutely abused.
Tonight is the eve of the launch of Oliver's Poetry. I am not ready but, tired as I am, I have been trying to fix up the blog, and put up a poem by me and one by Byron. Byron is my hero; Byron my spiritual friend (see: Byronic).
Next Blog and Previous Flashback
Previous Blog and Next Flashback