journalist - ‘why do you write?’
coetzee - ‘this is not a question I ask myself.’
situation from a piece in the sydney review of books on j.m. coetzee.
yesterday horsemouth was out digging over the garden and planting some broad beans for the early crop (they grow, the snow knocks them down, they come up again, you get your broad beans early the next year).
that's the theory anyway.
he's held some seed broad beans back for the main crop.
he shelled the overgrown runner beans (apparently they are fine to eat as long as they are boiled for about 10 minutes first, horsemouth has done it before and not died yet etc.), he cropped the marrows (anybody want a marrow? horsemouth has way too many), he found the last but one beetroot (he thinks).
there are still flowers on the marrows, tomatoes and some of the runner beans.
the night before he had brought in all the red (or yellow) tomatoes he could find (he thinks he's got until the end of the month before the frosts start getting after things). he'll bring the pepper plants into the conservatory to see if he can keep those going.
there's a ton of spinach. there's a ton a damsons and of apples.
horsemouth realises this is not of general interest but such were his tasks for the day. he did not get out for a wander on the common but he did get down the drive to bring the bin back up.
in the evening (in the dark) he went off to practice his bell-ringing. it went well. afterwards he returned early.
later (after he had read the coetzee piece) horsemouth read an autobiographical piece by the author (which he enjoyed). finding it sorted out a structural problem with this blogpost - that it was not of general interest - and attached it to horsemouth's various (auto)biographical projects.
it's a grey morning. it has clearly rained in the night.
today he goes out with sylvia at 3pm to clean up the batshit from the abbey belltower. he'll try and take a camera and get some footage of the bats.
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