church bells and black cat blues

'almost everything I write is about me. even funny fiction stories.' 

-  joe brainard, journal entry, 2nd june 1969 (quoted in the introduction by paul auster). 

wikipedia entry here (if like horsemouth you had never heard of him before, or if, also like horsemouth, you had heard of him once but had forgotten who he was since). 

horsemouth is feeling grumpy and at a loose end. 

howard is back from his travels round alfriston (but is off on another jaunt today). 

yesterday earlier on in the day church bells (a wedding). he saw the black cat sneaking round the house and then making its way down the drive. later on church bells again (as the newly married couple left). horsemouth picked some damsons and then there was a hunt through the garage for the storage jars and lids and such like. 

and from here on in an (entirely) written in the morning blogpost

looks like one of the chickens is on its way out. horsemouth has put it in the far shed with water and food to see if it will make a recovery. there were 9 recently added hens and 5 older hens, one of the older hens (horsemouth thinks) has since died. 

bruno's dream progresses well. bruno is dying and he is surrounded by a regular old cast of ne'er do wells. currently two of them are off doing the foxtrot. a couple talk in chunks of wittgenstein. at some point the thames will break its banks and we will have a dramatic denouement (doubtless). 

horsemouth wants to get stuff done but it is proving difficult. 

monday morning his mum is off to the doctors. 

'it was hard to say goodbye to my kind friends...'

kilvert (in 1872) is saying goodbye.

things horsemouth had not remembered

that chronicle of the guayaki indians starts with a birth. as the baby is born we are told about the anthropologist, guayaki cosmology and birthing practices all at the same time. 

he has repo-ed it from howard. 

he has iris murdoch's bruno's dream to be getting on with as well. 

things horsemouth had not known

coromandel wood is a variegated ebony wood (often from india, sri lanka, or indonesia). thus when kilvert described having a desk of coromandel wood bound round with brass horsemouth made nothing of it, but eventually he came to look at the word and wonder what it meant... and thence to wikipedia (god bless wikipedia). 

yesterday was bandcamp friday 

howard's solo album from the wilds of maine seems to have resurfaced. horsemouth recommends you grab this one while you can. it really is very good. 

good morning good morning

it's another beautiful morning out in the wilds. in a bit horsemouth will go out and do the watering. he will probably pick some damsons today (such as are ripe). 

we really are very fortunate to have a bus at all

a whole day of back and fore with the doctors

horsemouth emailed in a photo of his mum's injury and they reckoned it was a side-effect of the medication to bruise so badly so horsemouth and his mum didn't have to try getting to ewyas harold on the non-existent 1520 bus or back from ewyas harold on the non-existent post 1720 return service. 

nor did horsemouth and his mum have to phone around and beg a lift from friends (which is what it would need really).  

so let's get this straight 

last bus into ewyas harold (with a bus back later)  is;

1306 mondays, thursdays, fridays (the good days), 

1120 on a saturday, 

and 0920 on a tuesdays and wednesdays (the bad days).

sundays (and beware bank holidays) nothing nothing nothing. 

without the timetable in front of you you really don't stand much of a chance of working these things out. 

and yet (as the neighbour at the crossroads said) we really are very fortunate to have a bus at all. 

when the night buses come

they may be about to run night buses (i.e. buses after 1830 of an evening) at  2030 and 2230 from hereford to pontrilas but that doesn't mean there will be a connecting service running up to abbeydore (looks like horsemouth will be walking back across the common). 

you see for horsemouth it is not a problem - he can walk. for his mother (in the absence of a local cab and the community taxi needing to be booked in advance) as soon as there is any kind of emergency transport is a problem. 

and there's no sign yet of the hereford buses dropping from £3 each way to £2 each way - they are welsh buses and thus not subject to andy burnham's fiat. if horsemouth were in wales he would already have free bus travel but as it stands he will have to wait until 67. 

earlier on in the day 

horsemouth walked into ewyas harold and picked up his mum's prescription, checked out the volunteer run library (thursdays), and shopped for one or two items. the river is very low but someone is getting some giant LEGO style flood defences installed. 

and then he walked back. 

he probably needs to pick up some more bread and some more beer at some point. 

he's also been digging around and weeding in the garden. this means he has accidentally harvested some onions and some beetroot. the onions are tiny (shallot sized) - he blames limitations on the watering. they pretty much ate those last night (and very nice they were too). 

he thinks some secondary planting for an autumn harvest might be possible (or even necessary). 

it's a cold, coolish, autumnal morning but really we are still in the middle of a drought and a heat wave. even out here temperatures up to 30 and bottoming out at 24, some rain (but not nearly enough). 

today he will re-record his reading of chapter 5 for the far future village band project. it is bandcamp friday. 

and where are we with ourselves?

where are we with kilvert in the year 1872?

yesterday he returned to clyro. rain poured all day. he missed the midday train from hereford (as usual).

'I dined at the vicarage and received a present of a magnificent writing desk, which I am writing upon now, the most beautiful and perfect I ever saw, of coromandel wood bound with brass, fitted with polished mahogany and containing two most secret drawers.' 

today the venables, his employers, move to llysdinam. his replacement is booked in. all that remains for him to do is to work out his contract and then leave. september 2nd 1972 he will himself move away. 

and where are we with ourselves? 

well horsemouth lost his temper in the morning and he just lost it again in the evening. rather a few more things are dead in the garden or the greenhouse than he realised. the odd plant unnecessarily butchered for no good reason that he can see. 

but that's not the real reason. his essential dilemma is unresolved. the thing he needs to fix is not his to fix (within the conditions as currently set). 

ah. the conditions as currently set. (horsemouth fantasises wiggle room). 

in between there were some constructive and positive moments. when horsemouth was supportive and helpful. hopefully he can do more of those today.

today

well he's up. he's fed the chickens. the bin men have been (hopefully he put out the right bin). in a bit a journey down the drive to recover the said bin. perhaps later a journey into the village to pick up the prescription and the hereford times. 

horsemouth is back in the wild ( evidence of rain)

horsemouth is back in the wild

he got home at about half five having left london at about 11 o'clock.

the house itself he had left even earlier. he had a plan to raid the bookmarx bargain table (highly recommended) but they were shut when he got there and weren't opening until 10.30. he returned to outside dillons (as was) and picked up a copy of colette's letters  (earthly paradise in the penguin lives and letters series) for a fiver (not enough of a bargain to have interested him formerly but it will do).   

actually it looks familiar he may have bought it before. 

from 11 til roughly 1.20 he was on the first train. when he got to hereford he had an hour wait - he tried a book raid and then just gave up and read. strangely what he read on the train and in hereford and on the first bus was  bruno's dream by iris murdoch. (old man dying - various ne'er do wells round him). 

his first concern when he got back was to check the garden.

shock horror it is still there. there were plenty of runner beans in need of picking (there are even some broad beans). as horsemouth came into ledbury (or was it colwall) there was a short burst of rain (and similarly once he got home), not enough to do any real good (but nice to see). 

the morning

horsemouth awakes to evidence of rain. (clouds even). distinctly cooler. he can see the rabbits moving in the woods, there's even one in the hen enclosure (cheeky fecker). horsemouth wonders how it is getting in. 

this weather makes the previous weather temporarily  inconceivable. seems it's going to cool down to 20C or so and then heat back up to 28C. 

his brother has effected a temporary repair to the gate and the fence post (but it's wood in soil it has rotted out at the base). 

last night two conversations. 

the first on m. john harrison's chances of winning the booker (or even making the shortlist). who knows SF may have served its time in low culture prison and now be eligible for parole into the world of literary respectability. (there are other distributions that can be made of this material horsemouth knows).  

this led on to a discussion of how bad the title's of his books were and how bad the covers were (horsemouth has to concede both points). 

the second was on the perilous era we find ourselves in. the foolishness of modern wars and civil wars (as evidenced by the battle of the crater). 

horsemouth supposes there was a third conversation - with the bus driver on the way back about guitars. horsemouth will be researching the gretsch electromatic jet.

horsemouth out on a wander

so here we have horsemouth out on a wander (photo by howard).

it was a hot day. himself and howard were scuttling from one bit of shade to the next.

you may wonder where his dreadlocks are. 

they are up under his hat. (it is rare for horsemouth to wear a hat).

the wander went from walthamstow wood street to the steps of st. pauls (the start of their last major wander). it went via walthamstow marshes, hackney, islington, smithfield, and st. barts. 

they paused at the lea valley ice rink for coffee. 

and then later they paused  for food in angel thinking that there might be a wetherspoons (but no such luck- the one they were thinking of was in highbury). so they ate more expensively. howard had a vegan burger and fries and horsemouth had halloumi on toast. 

after completing the wander and having sat on the steps of st. pauls in stupefaction at the heat they made their way across the bridge to the tate modern and hid in there for about an hour. there they saw the exhibit by nora chipaumire (which they both liked and enjoyed and would recommend). 

they then went for two pints in a local pub (fortunately with air conditioning) but horsemouth was deterred by the heat from proposing any more (this was probably wise). 

thence hellishly hot underground journeys back. 

now horsemouth is back at his brother's house and cooling off by an open window. 

the morning. horsemouth faces the journey back to the wild. but not for a while. on his cheapest of tickets he can't get the earlier trains and there are breaks in the journey (at birmingham, at hereford). the stop at hereford may permit more book buying. he may travel into the town earlier. 

and sparrows raided the sunflowers

horsemouth is back from max's 60ieth (and scarecrow booklaunch) in spitalfields city farm. 

he travelled down early to bethnal green railway station and then scouted the area for a while. mostly in search of shade. he got a text from minty and they arranged to meet at whitechapel library and then go for coffee at rinkoffs. 

this left horsemouth with a bit of a hurried walk back for the start of max's thing. he got a text from howard to say that he was going.  he bumped into micalef on his way.

and then they were there and gradually everyone was there. micalef performed some scarecrow themed poetry and glyn and a friend provided the music (english country dance stuff with perhaps a breton tune thrown in there).  and sparrows raided the sunflowers.

howard headed off back to the whitechapel gallery.

in the end they all packed up and headed off to their usual pub. on the way horsemouth helped max drop his as yet unsold books off at his beautiful flat. (worthy of john soanes).

at the pub a discussion of tv detective series - and the terms copwashing and copaganda. the squatting days etc. etc. 

eventually himself darshavini and john cunningman headed off in the same general direction towards their respective buses and tube stations (leaving max and micalef etc. still at it).  

today a walk (much of it familiar to horsemouth).

and then on the morrow back to the wilds.