Interactive version of Oliver's Poetry Garret
Business As Usual
Tuesday, 6 June 2006, Blog 4
Lewes Garret
I wrote this last night at 7.35pm, according to Big Ken the Clocktower. A spectacular evening, a beer in my hand, inspirational music on the boogie box, I should feel great.
In fact I am just about OK, too tired and deflated even to go swimming (my usual Monday night pastime). Got away in good time from the Day-Job and went food shopping. Had sausages and mashed potatoes for tea, and almost jumped out of my skin when my flatmate John burst into the room with one of his clients, a hyperactive man, in tow.
A manic half-hour followed, with the client manically going into the kitchen to get bottles of booze or cola, and John trying to stop him from drinking them.
In between all this crazed activity, John said to me: 'What are we doing then you and me?'
I said: 'I thought you were staying till 24th of August when the contract ends.'
'Yeah,' John said, 'if that's all right.'
I explained what Mr Rigby had told me - that leaving early was not an option. John was surprised, and also that I intended to seek a new flatmate and keep on the pad.
'I thought you'd move into a big shared house,' he said, clearly not suggesting I move into the same big shared house as him.
Lots of banal small-talk followed until his client started pogoing, making the CD player jump, and John felt the need to take him out on to the streets of Leamington again.
Just had a telephone conversation with DJ E, one of my oldest and dearest friends. He said he is finally divorced and has almost disposed of the matrimonial home.
I love DJ E to bits he was a great friend at varsity, Best Man at my wedding, and, is an all round, good guy. I told him about Oliver's Poetry and he gave me some technical advice. (He is an I.T. genius). He is also going to look at the site and tell me, honestly, what he thinks. I suspect he will be my first visitor!
It is eight o'clock. The sun is setting over the chimneys, TV aerials and brick and slate rooftop of my world here. The can of Carling (65p) has been swapped for a cup of tea. Mr Bob Marley is doing his stuff on the music system. I am going to try to write some poetry for this week's update.
That was last night. After that entry, I went down to the Jug and saw three bands. They were the winners of a Warwick student band contest. Not bad at all.
I particularly liked a girl singer called Fiona Elizabeth, who had a fine voice. I said hello, but when she found out I was not from the media, she vanished!
I have decided to go to Cotesbach tonight to see friends. The stress of being around John is doing my head in.
Something's Wrong
Flashback to Bank Holiday Monday, 29 May 2006
Lewes-London Victoria train. Just past Lewes
4.52pm. Made the train by a couple of minutes. I have had a pleasant day. We visited the Seven Sisters Country Park, where Francesca and I walked hand in hand, and Marina rode a hired bicycle in her inimitable fashion.
The sun shone and the rain fell intermittantly. We got wet, dried out and got wet again. Francesca pointed out a skylark, hovering high above us. What wonderful birdsong! One sees so few skylarks these days. Also saw a heron across the water and enjoyed the whole constantly changing land/sky/seascape.
It will some 11 days since I was last there. I do hope that John has not managed to get my gear nicked, and that he has bothered to repair my bicycle.
My natural expectations on either are fairly low. I have a bad feeling about my return; part of the reason why I decided to come back today I can cope better with upset and disappointment when I am not dog tired. I texted him this morning to say I would be returned, but he has not responded.
6.31pm. London Marylebone Warwick train. Just out of the Marylebone tunnel, sunshine bright. I am finishing a cheese and onion pasty from the station and another cup of tea from the flask.
A Brummie crone with dyed orange hair and an unintelligible punk/hippy/England fan son are to my left. The man coughs his smoker's cough. The ancient woman dozes.
7.49pm. God, Britain's railways are badly run. We have all had to move up a carriage (which hurt my back) because 'the train [short though it is] is too long for the platform.' Balls!
Leamington Garret. 9pm.The sky is like a giant grey duvet with a pink, frilly edge which just allows out just a little white light. Big Ken my friend the Leamington Clock Tower says nine. I must say I feel tried and disagreeable.
The garret was in a terrible state when I arrived some half an hour ago. Unwashed dishes and scattered papers all over the living room floor; discarded towels; a surveyor's contract; insulin injection gear; some of my CDS, all lying around.
There was even a cheque for nearly 600 quid lying face down on the floor. Discarded cups of tea and beer bottles were everywhere. It looked like some kind of crazy party had been going on.
I went upstairs into my room and found my alarm clock and tape recorder were missing, soon found in John's bedroom. When I am away, my possessions seem to osmose in his direction.
My cameras and lenses were still here, I was glad to note, but my mountain bike was absent. John was missing, although the flat was unlocked, so I can only assume he has gone out on it.
Otherwise, he has managed to get it nicked, which would be very bad news. I am going to have to try to get him to be more security conscious.
I instantly feel lonely in this place. I don't know why, but I still feel ill at ease. Things are not right John would normally have left the flat more presentable - but I can't quite figure out what's going on.
11.37pm, although I can hardly see Big Ken. Eating a kebab but, as John kindly pointed out, 'not drunk'; 'Late Night Lurve' on the appalling local radio station; very dark through the port hole, only the yellow crane is visible.
John returned as I was finishing my last entry. We had a chat. He has repaired my puncture and is still using my bike, which now, according to Mr Landlord, has to be stored in a shed, far below my bedroom window. John needs to borrow it again tomorrow. I said that was fine.
He played a great reggae band called Fat Freddy's Drop on the stereo. I love the name Fat Freddy's Drop and love the music - it reminds of another great band, Misty In Roots. I reckon Fat Freddy's Drop could be massive.
The local radio is so appalling. Here's a conversation I just heard:
W*nker DJ: Hello
Phone-in Young Woman: Hi
W*nker DJ: Are you the kind of girl who has sex on the first date?
Young Woman: Well, it depends?
W*nker: HAVE YOU HAD SEX ON THE FIRST NIGHT?
Young Woman (Deeply embarrassed): Yes
W*nker (cutting her off): DIRTY GIRL!!!
Moronic radio should be banned.
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