# 58

This picture, taken in Arezzo, Tuscany, Italy, is how I feel right now. Its 3 in the morning and I have been awake for a couple of hours, sleep has abandoned me and instead a list as long as my arm regarding work to do lurks hauntingly behind the bedroom door. So I am up, drinking early grey and trying to clear a space in my head. I guess by the time I clear the decks a little, drink my tea and then have a shower, driving into Winchester won't be such a chore. Strangely, I don't feel tired though I guess it'll hit me around 2 this afternoon. But at Least I sorted my diary for the next week or so before settling down to write this. I will be popping up to Edinburgh this week to see my dad. I'm really looking forward to seeing him. And its curious that thought of going back because one of my earliest memories was 'digging to Australia' on Gullane beach. My dad had told me if I kept digging that's where I would end up. And my most recent publication was a prose poem on the topic, which I guess no one will mind if I reprint it here:

He was digging down, all the way to Australia, it can’t be worse than here, he thought; the quartz sand gave way to crushed sea shell, fossiliferous shale and strata of sedimentary rock, an outcrop of Upper Ordovician limestone halted his progress momentarily; and then drifting in, on an offshore breeze, he could hear the dreams and strange songlines that were etched in the coal seams, nouns like vistas, rivers of sayings, stories as ancient as the earth; the tide reached back up the beach and filled the hole he had dug, tomorrow he would begin again, perhaps not quite so close to the sea...

Somehow this song fits the bill, if you ever catch me with a guitar I could play it for you - happy Monday, is it that time already, goodness it'll soon be December.

# 57

Its four thirty in the morning and the drive to Winchester beckons. This (left) was last night outside the house and the picture below was inside. I left the fire to take a stroll as the weekend clock wound down, and both pictures are evidence that Autumn is finally on its way. That's okay, change will happen and it just means spring is closer at hand than it was. However, what I hope spring will bring is a new novel. It currently sits at around 50,000 words and growing, with plans to take over the Christmas break between teaching. Fingers crossed on that, it would be nice to at least get the words crunched. Unfortunately time is a real burden at the moment, there just doesn't seem to be any - but that's okay, I guess it was ever thus, it just seems to get harder. I think I might set up one of those stand at a desk work station in front of the fire - though could I bear the distraction. But its the time of year for a good ghost story and that is something else I am trying to write - harder than it seems (and Dickens did it so well in the past) - but on that subject, I just bought this album by the wonderful Kate Rusby,

When all the world it sleeps and the moon plays host, When all the world it sleeps, then I see your ghost...

I shall leave this post on that note - the road beckons and the drive has to be made. Happy Monday, not many left in this year, though enough to keep it alive.

# 56

A very grey day in Brighton, the sea crashing agains the pier, but a bracing reminder we are still alive. Its been one of those weekends full of stuff to do and I can hardly believe its almost over. Where does the time go? I am only writing this to post the picture, which is cheerier than the news has been all week. Even in the face of stormy weather it gives up a face of optimism and that has to be a good thing. I live in the optimistic hope that the world will eventually become a better place. Once again, who knows where the time goes...

# 55

Out walking last night I snapped this gothic clock in Blakers Park. And since the time shown was 10.55 and this is # 55 in this series it seemed appropriate. Also, it feels appropriate to mark what happened in Paris last night. Such a tragic consequence of people who wish to make their own point. Why does all the joy have to be sucked out of the world to do this? We are approaching a season of good will. Let's hope it can be shared.

# 54

Dreich, a fantastic Scottish word that means how it sounds. Last night was dreich, my Friday walk turned a corner into a squall blowing up from the sea and it rained for Noah. When I was a boy we used to experience the haar blowing off the north sea. It was a sea fog that would settle over the coast and swallow up into its misery; there was no escape from the damp as it seeped into your bones. However, the one thing that never escapes the memory is autumn, caught in the right light, at the right time. I look forward to the sun returning and this playing in the kitchen as I sit at the back door, letting the season open the door to winter. Happy Saturday, may you stay forever dry.

# 53

A nocturnal stroll is something I really enjoy; taking in the sights at night while the city buzzes around you. This is the Duke of York, independent cinema, which is virtually at the end of my road (the stripy legs on top are  bit of a feature). Writing this blog at five in the morning takes its own toll but I would have to give up the walks if I wrote before I got to bed instead of when I rise (and I prefer writing at this time). I am coming to the end of being sixty and I would like to say its been different, but it hasn't - well actually I have written more songs this year than probably any other, and I have published prose poetry this year, which I had never even written before, in fact its been a productive year; some songs, some prose poems and three chapters written, a book co-edited and sent off,  papers in Bath and London, a plenary talk in Corfu, a visiting Prof job in Montana, The Boat as an ongoing project, oh and I visited Oklahoma, New Orleans, Montana, Crete and Corfu, and yesterday I even changed the 'nut' on my dobro - a first for me, that one, not bad for slowing down, I guess. And now its 5 am Friday, soon I will be driving to Winchester to teach, all is quiet after bonfire night, the morning air is warm,  though there is an eerie wind blowing down the chimney, but the early grey tea is hot and hitting the right spot, I am waking into the day - and I can start it all over again: