Back at the Riverside Cafe
The tide is racing north. A tatty canoes tugs at its tether. A child howls in the background and the staff gossip as they prepare sandwiches. I am ready to work. Sheaves of paper on which I printed out various moments in JTW are propped on a metal typing stand I bought twenty years ago from Rymans in Great Titchfield Street. I remember taking it back to Vicki’s house in Sumatra Road. She criticised my spending, yet here it is, twenty years later whereas anything cheaper would have been binned long ago. I’d like to make a start. I’m making the corrections on the Psion. Problem is I haven’t sucked these chapters into the Psion. Do I retype the lot of it? Perhaps I should?
This morning’s race from Seaford had its painful moments
We left later than yesterday there were no jams across the railway in Newhaven, nor any delays from the aftermath of he ‘serious road accident’ that blocked our route into Lewes at Southease yesterday afternoon.
Smashed egg
Once at school Zozo sits on a bench to colour in her second egg having smashed her the egg she was ‘looking after’ for some Barnados thing yesterday. I deal with TBT, reminding him that he gets double stars if I can leave before registration. As we go in I find the fruit he was given for his snack yesterday is bruised. I deftly take Zozo’s plum. Not much of a snack. I wish I’d left his lunch box as I’ve done before. He turns nasty if he doesn’t eat. At least I gave him a plateful of eggy bread this morning. Zozo comes over in tears. The bell has gone and Mrs Cox wont let her carry on with her egg. She becomes distraught as I try to pack her eggs and crayon into her bag and point her towards school. I am firm. She takes a cuddle and a kiss and goes. Meanwhile TBT is playing raucously with some of the boys (as I had hoped). I give him a quick cuddle kiss, remind him of the double stars, point him towards Mrs Philips and leave.
Feeling encumbered, and outnumbered by our ‘worries’
I turn first to a list of bits I feel I ought to write for JTW, the open my notes from ‘A Way of Being Free’ (1997) by Ben Okri. I chose this as today’s mantra.
‘Weave your songs by whatever means you can.’
Ben Okri
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