Once again, it's been a long time since my last post. Things have been extraordinary, on an unprecedented level. I've also been moving around London and working intermittently; and I've given myself the impossible task of trying to connect two voices in one novel - and, to make things harder, the second voice is written in verse.
A couple of weeks ago, I was going to write something about the local elections. But I gave up, knowing that Boris would win again anyway, and he did. We only get what we deserve, and it was essentially a choice between two larger-than-life egos who both ought to know when to think before speaking, but invariably choose not to. So instead, I've been alternating between kissing my teeth, dusting off my shoes and tuning out of the whole thing altogether.
Indeed, all that's left to do is appreciate the last few days before the Jubilympics gets into full flow and travelling around London goes from being a moderately bearable nightmare to a living hell.
The opening para of Owen Jones' guest blog on the UK Uncut site kind of encapsulates my feeling about this one: to celebrate Britishness, out come the flags and the monarchy - and then yet more flags - and everyone's expected to be happy or, dare I say, jubilant about the whole thing. For one, do these things really represent what it is to be British? And, if so, what does it say about this country? There's an unquestioning imbecility about the Jubilee and the Olympics (or, if you prefer, the parody-term "Jubilympics") which bring about adverts like this one, which I spotted on the tube:
I won't elaborate any further right now...
Poetry
I've been lucky enough to sit back in a few audiences over the past few weeks, and hope to be delivering some new material over weeks to come. Expect another update on that front tomorrow (I promise!)
Prose
Word count today so far: 300.
Not great, but the sun - finally we have sun!! - is proving to be a bit of a distraction. I'll have to return to the novel after dusk.
Until soon!
A couple of weeks ago, I was going to write something about the local elections. But I gave up, knowing that Boris would win again anyway, and he did. We only get what we deserve, and it was essentially a choice between two larger-than-life egos who both ought to know when to think before speaking, but invariably choose not to. So instead, I've been alternating between kissing my teeth, dusting off my shoes and tuning out of the whole thing altogether.
Indeed, all that's left to do is appreciate the last few days before the Jubilympics gets into full flow and travelling around London goes from being a moderately bearable nightmare to a living hell.
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| View from a (soon-to-be-packed) bus |
The opening para of Owen Jones' guest blog on the UK Uncut site kind of encapsulates my feeling about this one: to celebrate Britishness, out come the flags and the monarchy - and then yet more flags - and everyone's expected to be happy or, dare I say, jubilant about the whole thing. For one, do these things really represent what it is to be British? And, if so, what does it say about this country? There's an unquestioning imbecility about the Jubilee and the Olympics (or, if you prefer, the parody-term "Jubilympics") which bring about adverts like this one, which I spotted on the tube:
"You know when your mum's coming round to your flat and you give the place a quick tidy? Well that's exactly what we're doing. Except our 'flat' is London and our 'mum' is the rest of the world coming round."There's something in my neck that twitches when I see stuff like that. Or this:
I won't elaborate any further right now...
Poetry
I've been lucky enough to sit back in a few audiences over the past few weeks, and hope to be delivering some new material over weeks to come. Expect another update on that front tomorrow (I promise!)
Prose
Word count today so far: 300.
Not great, but the sun - finally we have sun!! - is proving to be a bit of a distraction. I'll have to return to the novel after dusk.
Until soon!
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