the foresters walk in chippenham

'as john cozens was mowing the lawn this morning he told me that the foresters were going to 'walk' in chippenham to-day and as this was a high day with them, they were going to have a waggon bowered with green in which would be a shepherd and shepherdess and some sheep or lambs. 

... we came back to cocklebury lane... and we soon heard the band strike up, drum and trumpets. from the sound the procession was clearly marching on langley...

first came two men on horseback riding like flour sacks and rolling heavily from side to side. they wore green coats with gold ornaments, white breeches, hessian boots and ostrich feathers in their caps. each bore a huge bugle and smote his horse with the edge of the sword.

after them walked gentlemen in black coats crossed with green scarves and bearing tall wands of office. then marched the band resplendent in a uniform of white, green and gold, followed by a wagon bowered in green branches...' 

horsemouth does not know if this tradition survives (or indeed what the hell it is about). 

yesterday

horsemouth played his contracted version of the riff from lam tooro  and realised he could get the cu-cu bird over it (whether this works or not it is not for him to say). he has attempted it so he can now hear it. in general his attempts to record the harmonium have been derailed by the microphone on the laptop/ the laptops processing capacity overloading as soon as it is shown a decently loud sound.

he tried playing and recording je te veux (erik satie) perhaps that will tempt people out. he tried various other things. hopefully he has done enough that it will all appear miraculously transformed. 

to be fair he also delivered the eggs to the crossroads and took the bin down the drive. (remind him to bring it back up tomorrow). 

today

he will have a look and see if there is anything he has missed that it would be useful to send. he has woken up with a slight headache. the coffee is doing it some good. greyish morning supposed to be better later on. 

what would really help is a taxi service ( a mis-remembered theme from lam tooro)

kilvert is back. or rather he's off to langley burrell.

'today I came to langley. charles drove me to hay station to meet the 8 o' clock train, and I brought the dormice for the children...' 

tomorrow the foresters walk in chippenham (presumably some kind of precursor of the chippenham folk festival). 

the bus timetable

oh dear horsemouth just had another temper tantrum when confronted by the bus timetable. only the pdf bus timetable is worth a shit and that (despite horsemouth's many qualifications and science background) is a complete cunt to read. 

it's the random out-of-the-blue nature of the requests that foxes horsemouth. (like horsemouth remembers this kind of shit). 

horsemouth was trying to persuade his mum not just to agree to any old time for doctor's appointments (or at the very least not to attempt to get there and back again by bus if she does).

mondays, thursdays, fridays the bus timetable makes some sense. great his mum has opted for a tuesday (on tuesday the bus goes to abergavenny and back and fuck knows what it does or where it goes the rest of the time).

but (of course) his mum needs not just a bus there but a bus back too and while ewyas harold is a very pretty village it is in any event an hour and twenty minutes wait minimum for the bus back (assuming there is one - which in the afternoon is in doubt). 

what would really help round here is a taxi service - but there isn't one. 

yesterday horsemouth mostly played a mis-remembered theme from lam tooro. this (as the hip people will know) is lifted from a track on mansur seck and baaba maal's djam leelii. now horsemouth has successfully lifted and played part of the main riff and he has recorded a big E minor drone that should be reasonably in tune with it.

he has also worked out a contracted version of the riff which he will try in a bit. 

he has also recorded a vocal attempting to do part of the melody. (this he is dissatisfied with because the original lyrics are in woloof or something and so he only has one line of lyrics really and he's not sure they mean anything). 

he might lift def lo xam by positive black soul also. 

today he will redo the vocal with handclaps to better assist with other things being added. he's just noticed and remembered the thumb piano maybe that would work with it. 

the sheep are here (much to his mum's chagrin). it's a mild morning. horsemouth has been out to feed the chickens and open up the garage. 

imagined communities

no kilvert today (at least that plommer or kilvert's niece have vouchsafed us). 

kilvert tomorrow. 

having sung a version of mes bourons sont morts (and completely obliterated the beauty of it) in the morning (under the name mâchoire d'âne - aka. jawbone of an ass) horsemouth proceeded to fake up some putative band photos. 

horsemouth the qawwali singer is probably the most successful. other musicians on the project will appear in suitable garb. 

here horsemouth channeled nusrat fateh ali khan (or perhaps the sabri brothers). 

in between singing and faking up photos of himself (an a white background to facilitate the copying in of other images) horsemouth wandered over to the village (to post off a letter and buy some cooking oil). 

the laptop microphone records the harmonium very strangely. (horsemouth wonders where he has put the tuner). 

there were other photos

 horsemouth the knife wielding maniac  for example.

having done his singing and playing (and dressing up) horsemouth began to feel a bit anxious. he's thinking about what to get up to tomorrow. ah poor bird (maybe) or his misheard version of speed the plough. 

perhaps the best thing to do is what was asked - play harmonium. 

this morning wet and grey.  in the night horsemouth read a little of  imagined communities (the magyarisation of hungary) and italo svevo's a life. he watched a video by book-pilled (library sales - can't beat them) but could not make similar progress with the outlaw bookseller video. 

bog beans, whitsun, and parthenope (florence nightingale's sister)

 it is the 18th of may and kilvert is returned to us

'hay fair is still going on. to get out of the sight and sound of it I went up the unfrequented path from penllan to the wern below gwernfydden to look for bog beans to give to mrs. venables on whitsun day. the marshy ground was thick with the trefoil bean leaves, but not a blossom had yet opened...' 

the leaves of the bog bean plant are noted for their medicinal effects. horsemouth is unclear as to why kilvert should want the flowers and for whitsun day. it may be that (as the flowers are white) it is connected with women coming to church wearing white on that day. 

kilvert is reading lettice lisle by florence nightingale's sister frances parthenope  (named after the greek name for naples apparently).

in the afternoon of the yesterday a chat on the phone to enza. no howard later on (he was off to chat's palace - local history stuff). in the afternoon rain (and similar things). 

later still aaron bastani and james butler in conversation - the state of the british state, the possible fall of starmer. this leading to a debate about sylvia pankhurst and workers' dreadnaught.

today a coolish morning. horsemouth has a plan to record more harmonium. 

this is a box (chim chim cheree)

why isn't chim chim cheree by john coltrane as great as my favourite things?

giving it a listen -  it is pretty great.

why is horsemouth discussing this now? it's the anniversary of when it (chim chim cheree) was recorded - 17th may 1965 (as was brazilia and songs of praise). 

horsemouth has got his harmonium down from the top of the cupboard and even played it

he's brought the cassette recorder over from the garage just in case that might be needed. he was having a think about which cassette to record on. 

he recorded a small segment of it (using his laptop sound recorder and built in microphones) and  messaged it over to robert lawson in far off rio gordo. 

rob emailed back the clip with his spike violin added. 

it all sounded most good. 

but before that horsemouth made a parody of the introduction to camberwick green (a children's programme loved by people of horsemouth's generation). 

'here is a box... a musical box...'  

which curiously resembles john berger ways of seeing also in that it tells you what you are looking at. 

today. a decent morning. later a phonecall from enza. 

into the d(r)one (making-art-for-the-sake-of-making-art)

'if you are looking for a music project I could use some harmonium drones for the next far future village band album...' suggested a friend. 

horsemouth pointed out that the harmonium (as loaned by john clarkson) is tuned about +40/50% from where standard pitch is (but it does make a nice racket once it is going).

his friend proposes to tweak the pitch or tune to it. previously he had  recorded some tracks with a spike fiddle and had had to tune everything else to it afterwards.

horsemouth noted that's what musicians of bremen had done the first with the harmonium on volume three -they tuned the guitars to the harmonium and then played (most notably on the banks of the susquehanna). 

for volume four (or round about that time) they played two notes for each note one a semitone down so that it averaged out to the correct pitch (beating at the difference of the two pitches) and added a note of the 'correct' or correcting pitch on top - which was moderately successful.

strangely this led to horsemouth listening through the  musicians of bremen back catalogue in search of droney bits. 

hmm. he's thinking about how to record and share it. maybe he should record it on cassette. 

meanwhile the consolidation of the music industry proceeds apace. (not that this bothers horsemouth he is sunk beneath the music industry and into the 'making-art-for-the-sake-of-making-art'  world). 

yesterday  a strangely busy day. a phonecall from an aunt. mum visits the health centre and does some food shopping. 

later a trip in a land rover over to the local filling station to pick up chicken feed.  in the evening he watched black rain (fiercely dull). 

today a greyish morning (very mid as the youth would say). 

horsemouth is contemplating activity

ok it's not even 9.30 and horsemouth has completed all his tasks for the day and accidentally deleted all the texts from his phone (again). 

he barely understands or uses his phone and it's a solid pre-historic brick. 

horsemouth is praying for the landline not to go. someone is in hospital and if the phone goes it's probably bad news. no news is probably good news. mornings he thinks of as dangerous times. mornings and weekends. 

meanwhile his mum is due down the doctor's again on friday (which will be today when you read this). 

meanwhile rain (so horsemouth is excused watering). 

later he went out for a walk on the common. he was on his way back when it started raining. he could hear the water gurgling in the water butts (which is a good sign). 

horsemouth is feeling anxious

why is horsemouth feeling anxious?

his anxiety is mostly social anxiety - that he will have to go somewhere and do something and there will be people there and then… 

having moved to the wild, he has less social interaction with people and thus less practice at doing it, and so the less he is reassured by the banality of most interaction. 

he’s getting on for three years of life in the wild (there was a fair amount of back and fore for the first two and a half years).

musical endeavour

even though horsemouth was mostly a solo folk guitarist in the wen there was still a community of musicians, singers and players and gigs to go to. but to be fair this route has been largely blocked off for the last 5 years. horsemouth (or musicians of bremen) has managed about one gig a year since the covid pandemic and a handful of jams. 

he has (it is true) learned new songs but he has made little effort to write new songs.  a brace of new songs from four years ago sit on soundcloud undeveloped.

broadly horsemouth is out of the old thing but he’s not into the new thing

last night he watched trois hommes a abattre (1980 jacques deray) an alain delon vanity project.  a beautiful morning outside. horsemouth is contemplating activity. 

first in the city / last in the city (thus krishna on the battlefield)

 'the shift from wanting to be first in the city to wanting to be last, is, by a mutation of pride, to trade a dynamic madness for a static one...' 

- e.m. cioran, history and utopia. 

'and this (as horsemouth pointed out at the end of april) is the mutation horsemouth is trying to undertake, to move away from his concern with the communal endeavour...' 

and this, it now occurs to the somewhat dull mule, is keir starmer's problem also. currently he is important and heroic, but soon he could be minor and comic. it may be that is not what he wants. it may be that it will happen anyway. 

yesterday egg deliveries and sylvia visited. black gloves in the abbey porch. 

'then lord zippy did address bungle sunk in deep despair...'

a friend has proposed bungle and zippy for the famous arjuna and krishna live from the chariot between the two armies scene. horsemouth likes this idea. 'how can I be expected to deal with this?' moans one 'I'm just a bloody sock puppet'. 

well it's the morning (which was sunny and has now darkened over)

horsemouth has found the hereford times puzzles page and will attempt the sujiko (actually the sakuro) in a bit. 

today maybe some bad news (or maybe not). 

today is the anniversary of the recording of huntington ashram monastery at the coltrane family home in 1969 (great ron carter bassline). 

it is also ascension day - the day when we play ascension fucken' loud.

horsemouth's bargainings (an end to such speculations)

'suppose we put an end to such speculations: total stagnation would ensue. for we act only under the fascination of the impossible...'  

- e.m. cioran finds something nice to say about utopias (at last) in history and utopia.  

only one more friday the 13th this year 2026 (with 3 friday 13ths in it, a most unfortunate year) but only one friday 13th the year after 2027 (so a fortunate year). 

it's 13th today (for example). but not a friday the 13th.

such are horsemouth's bargainings with the calendar. 

horsemouth has fed the chickens and watered the garden (ok fairplay he needs to go and water the old garden). he should go for a wander to avoid slipping into the trough of little activity. it looks like it might rain but the weather forecast claims that it will not. (that's pretty much how yesterday went down also). 

thereafter rain. bloody rain. at least the water butts will refill. 

the morning. a pleasant mild morning. in an almost comedic and complete fashion the weather forecast says rain. oops here it comes. horsemouth will be excused watering. he has moved his cioran reading on from mechanism of utopia to odyssey of rancour. 

meanwhile they have not killed the king (by this horsemouth means starmer). they have not declared because neither streeting nor raynor are in a good place to declare. and then there's the king of the north (and he burn ham) and the insanely difficult task of getting him back into parliament.

which, frankly, may, or may not, be possible. 

and then there is the incoming economic disaster that is the war on iran and its effects on the bond market for government debt and the effects of the 'political instability'.  an emergency without a forseeable end.

can the uselessly sincere starmer survive? 

horsemouth had to laugh. many councils only have elections for a third of their seats at any one time but if the election results are repeated next year as they were this year then labour will lose control of liverpool. 

horsemouth takes the view that labour can lose wales and no-one, outside of wales, will give a shit, but if labour were lose liverpool? that's seriously bad juju. 

depression, recession, market failure, shortage, rationing coming sometime (maybe).

having finished reading the bird of the dawning

horsemouth supposes this as unlikely a name for a ship as ever proposed in a work of fiction. he thinks the author wanted to call it the cock but his editors refused him. (certainly this is the nickname the sailors give the boat in the book). 

what to read next? 

horsemouth supposes he should return to reading italo svevo's a life or he could finish off reading benedict anderson's imagined communities (or indeed isaiah berlin's essay on herder). 

yesterday afternoon his mum went to the village. his mum was going to go round and visit a friend but her friend has had a fall and is currently in hospital. (such are the travails of growing old). 

future events

in may

sun ra day (may 21st and 22nd, london (uk) and birmingham (alabama)) is coming up and the bournemouth electronic music open mic night (EMOM).

some friends have a bookfair up in high barnet - paper arts museum bookfair 22nd to the 25th may in ravenscourt park

in june

triple negative have a gig coming up  on the 19th (but it's in nottingham). 

the summer solstice

the leigh folk festival is coming up (lou and leo, the owl service, belinda kempster and fran foote, diana collier etc.). 

depression, recession, market failure, shortage, rationing

coming sometime (maybe). 

horsemouth doesn't think people have got a measure of how bad the fallout from the gulf war will be (even if it were to end now). 

add on top of that the fall of sir keir and the labour together project and his slow motion replacement by andi B or whomever. add on the rise of reform and the 'parties' to the right of it (restore, the tommies). add to that a tory party desparate to claw its way back into power and an electorate already willing to nod through the policies of shabana mahmood. 

horsemouth does not like the look of it. 

this morning. it was a bright sunny morning when horsemouth was trying to sleep. once he was up and around it had clouded over and gone cooler. he was up late. today a dry day with maybe even sunshine (it says here). 

'the bitterest bleakest may I ever saw...'

on this day in 1872 tough times for kilvert. 

'this is the bitterest bleakest may I ever saw and I have seen some bad ones. may is usually the worst and coldest month of the year, but this beats them all and out herods herod. a black bitter wind violent and piercing drove from the east with showers of snow... the hawthorn bushes are white with may and snow at the same time.'

nothing now from kilvert until the 18th and soon after he is off to langley burrell until the start of june (with a visit to london worked in). 

at the start of september he leaves clyro. 

here an underwhelming and cold may. 

that said yesterday afternoon horsemouth went for a walk on the common and stripped down to just his shirt and trousers such was the strength of the sun (though the wind was cold). and yet as soon as horsemouth came back inside it went dark again. 

he was just out watering the garden (because the forecast says no rain even though the skies say otherwise). but, to be honest, it's not been too bad a day. 

in the morning horsemouth dreamt he had gone to sleep in a nursery (he was attending some course or other far out of the way). he was sleeping in an office when it started opening up again. he quickly packed away his stuff hoping to make his way outside without being discovered. 

culpeper's herbal and the prophet habakkuk

on this day in 1872 kilvert meets the sawyer james jones.

'we fell to discourse... he said wild garlic, called jack-in-the-bush, is a famous pot herb. the old man's work was done, he put up his tools, took me home with him and lent me culpeper's herbal.'

jack-in-the-bush is now the name used for a jamaican healing herb (good for coughs and colds and wounds).

the plant james jones is referring to is now more commonly called  jack-in-the-hedge (garlic mustard) and (to be fair) there is quite a lot of it about at the moment. wild garlic is a name more commonly used for alium ursinum (though to be fair that's also a pot herb). 

culpeper's herbal (the book kilvert is given to help him in his botanising) was a famous guide to useful plants. culpeper lived for a while, and ran an apothecary, at a halfway house in spitalfields - hence probably the naming of a nearby pub). 

so is the dust settling from the drubbing by the electorate of labour and the conservatives?

the electorate are grumpy and impatient and expect their newly voted in parties to rapidly deliver something better - this is probably not possible. 

are things going to get better? with a war in the gulf going on? unlikely. that's petrol and gas and food prices driven up right there. and thus the cost of all goods that have to be transported and all premises that have to be heated. 

horsemouth has just finished reading the bird of the dawning by john masefield (and very good it was too).

now SPOILER ALERT. much concerns a prophet called ebenezer mudde (an alleged follower of the biblical prophet habakkuk) and his publishing operation and ministry at 27 seacole lane millwall. (as far as horsemouth can tell this is not a real address). 

habakkuk was a minor prophet and very much concerned with the end of the world. 

'O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? or cry to you "violence!" and you will not save?'

yesterday in the afternoon a zoom beer with howard. they were both knackered and grumpy and finished it off after one. earlier a wander up the hill with the eggs (roughly 2.8 miles - up hill at first and then down hill thereafter). a friend was going off to see an orchestral performance of tubular bells - they asked alexa to play it, it also played hergest ridge (which horsemouth prefers). 

it's a darkish sort of morning. rain from wednesday it looks like. cold overnight the next few nights. 

'some of the noblest lives are unrecorded upon earth...'

'some of the noblest lives are unrecorded upon earth. they are not thought worthy among men, of being kept in mind. but they are recorded in a better place...' 

kilvert in his diary on this day in 1872. 

kilvert notes a blackbird caught dead in a trap and feels 'sick and sorrowful'. 

tomorrow he is encouraged in his botanising. 

the bird of dawning continues to go well. but it's not looking to good for the survivors of the shipwreck - in an open boat on high seas with the water having been discovered to be tainted. john masefield (the author) was bon in ledbury (which is reasonably nearby and whose railway station horsemouth will have passed through on the way back).

the stupidest war ever  (part 2)

following on from horsemouth's completely unjustified characterisation of the current gulf war as the stupidest war ever a friend  has objected that the war of  jenkins' ear was in fact the stupidest war ever. 

(horsemouth is indebted to his friend for this war - he'd never heard of it before - boom boom). 

captain jenkins's ear was allegedly severed by spanish coastguards in the caribbean in 1731 whilst they were searching his ship. a mere eight years later in 1739 this was considered a sufficient outrage to start a war over (but not an injury claim with claims-for-us). 

fighting formally ended 9 years later in 1748 with the treaty of aix-la-chapelle. 

historians, however, seem capable of finding economic reasons for the war and attach it (politically and historically) to the war of austrian succession. (another war horsemouth had not previously heard of). 

thus it may not actually be as stupid as the current gulf war because it may have made political and economic sense at the time. 

that it is a beautiful morning in the wilds

it's a beautiful morning in the wilds. earlier the sun was knocking at horsemouth's window demand entrance. horsemouth made it wait and wipe its feet. 

in the evening he listened to the mighty wave debb show 60. 

next time ( stupidest war ever)

 an entirely written in the morning blogpost.

that is because horsemouth was remiss in his blogging duties yesterday. he was (mostly) on the train travelling back from the wen to the wilds. for most of the journeys he pretended to sleep (the better to manage a mild but persistent hangover). '

killing time in hereford before the bus back out to the wilds horsemouth bought the bird of dawning by john masefield (a seafaring novel  in the century seafarers edition). it reads well.

it was good to see mike T and H and greg from detroit whom horsemouth last met in a windsor ontario shopping mall in about 1998. 

the counting will continue today for the results of the local elections held. various types of political bargaining will be deployed. 

meanwhile trump has been out bombing in iran (such is the nature of modern ceasefires). stupidest war ever pronounces horsemouth. 

today horsemouth gets back on top of the various tasks. 

eleven light city

horsemouth is late.

this is an entirely written in the afternoon blogpost. 

sweet earth flying (storm ending)

'thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads,

great, hollow, bell-like flowers,

rumbling in the wind...

and the sweet earth flying from the thunder.'

- jean toomer, storm ending. 

it is the anniversary of the first day's recording on marion brown's sweet earth flying (1974) - the title of which is lifted from the jean toomer poem above.

meanwhile in 1872 kilvert is arguing with his friend latimer jones. it all gets a bit heated. 

'mrs. bevan said afterwards she feared we should have fought.'

horsemouth thanks;

(there follows a list of people who have liked or commented on his posts on facebook in the last while)

for their continuing attention to  his bullshit. 

he went for a walk on the common and found a tennis ball lost in the bushes. 

--------------------------------

ok it is just about 7am. in a bit horsemouth departs (to walk to the bus, to get the bus into hereford, to get the train to birmingham, to get the train to london etc.). horsemouth (you see) is making a flying visit to the city. 

there he will talk with friends. what will they talk about? probably politics. what will they say? that the country/ world is in a terrible state. that the rulers are incompetent bastards. that sort of thing. 

it's really less about the substance of their discussions rather that they meet. 

when's the bus out of pontrilas? 0940. so when should horsemouth set off? probably about 0830. 

ok so he's on the 1040 train to BHM. all is good. 

'no person ever wants to see their childhood home sold' (the drifting life of horsemouth)

yesterday. 

horsemouth wandered into ewyas harold to get some bread and post a letter. 

he wasn't convinced that the shop would be open (because it was a bank holiday). but it was and mission accomplished. 

in a way it is a relief to be able to do something active. 

anyway was soon time for the 13:00 news. (which he listened to as he typed this). 

horsemouth tried book divination 

he tried it with history and utopia and imagined communities  and frankly the results were scary rather than gnomic - history and utopia gave him tyranny concentrating into one big tyranny, imagined communities gave him the linguistic nationalisms of europe. 

in the booklet for the ecstatic music of alice coltrane turiyasangitananda sufiya botofasina (keyboard player with the ashram choir) says;

'no person ever wants to see their childhood home sold.'

this will have to do for a title. 

he watched the drifting life of himeshiro on youtube. 

the weather was surprisingly good and rain free (sunny even). 

in the night (well the morning) a dream about being in a van at a festival with too many issues of the WIRE magazine everywhere. 

a greyish, coolish morning. 

actually it's a beautiful morning with bright sunlight and drifting white seeds or pollen. 

horsemouth has a plan to escape to town

sunday there was a possible thunderstorm (but it doesn't seem to have shown up)  and horsemouth was feeling a bit anxious. 

in the afternoon of the sunday zoom beers with howard - he has the monday off  because of the may bank holiday (internartional workers' day etc.)  and so he could drink on a sunday with a clear conscience.  

two bottles of hobgoblin in his case, two bottles of butty bach in horsemouth's case. a discussion of the reading programme. 

a discussion of charles mingus' town hall concert (howard mentioned ah-um, black saint and the sinner lady, pithecanthropus erectus). horsemouth approved them all and then counter attacked with oh yeah, tijuana moods, and changes two.  

howard's next half term? broadly from the 22nd. 

horsemouth has a plan to escape to town (briefly). 

horsemouth 'remixes' an earlier poem

'a blackout book 

a note to himself: an essay on limits 

 at the flowering of the cabbage

a praise song for the herring

seven intellectuals 

in a boat

two ghost images 

of john fahey

 'all my old men are dead but one.’'

 

the earlier poem is a cento - a poem made up of lines from other poems (or in this case lines from horsemouth's blogs for the period). he has attempted to concentrate the poem still further. 

what happens when deaths outnumber births?

well not much. life goes on (but it's older). the bumpy profile of ages bumps along (getting older). todays children become teenagers, enter the workforce, their parents age and leave the workforce, the workforce itself even increases a bit by 2050 (or at least the numbers of people who are the right ages for work do). 

but then there's more older people too. 

the evening - outside it is raining

it's the afternoon/evening of the saturday. outside it is raining. this seems strange now (enough days and weeks have gone by without rain). horsemouth has locked up the chickens early (he is excused watering the garden). the water butts that were empty will now fill back up (he hopes). 

the morning - misty

it's the morning horsemouth is back from feeding the chickens. 

the coffee is good this morning as is the light.  

last night more reading of imagined communities. 

may morrow (if there is a mistake to be made I invariably make it)

 as kilvert would put it. 

'I called on the higginses, the new tenants at clyro court farm. mrs. higgins came into the drawing room with two other ladies, and if there is a mistake to be made I invariably make it so I accosted one of the ladies as mrs. higgins and found afterwards that I was speaking to one of the miss bowens who always imagine that I know them so very well and who were therefore proportionately annoyed by the mistake.'

now no kilvert until may 6th (when he argues with mr. latimer jones). 

yesterday

a walk up the hill to deliver the eggs (a discussion of the salt path). there was some rain but it looked insufficient to get horsemouth excused watering. 

today

a pleasant enough morning. a little cloudy after a few bluesky days. horsemouth will be out to do the watering in a bit. 

next week a friend visits (will horsemouth make it up to town?). 

'at the flowering of the cabbage

and a praise song for the herring

'all my old men are dead but one.’

may day (everything you do not yet own)

triple negative · shell of sheen

international workers' day

yesterday sunshine.  as usual sunshine always makes him feel slightly guilty. 

he has had the pleasure of potting up the tomatoes bought at madley plants and planting the cosmo he bought there. the other thing (the trailing thing) horsemouth was less successful at separating the roots than he would have liked to be (bit of a fuck up ah well never mind). 

soon horsemouth will have the pleasure of turning over the pages in the calendars. (he will probably start with the triple negative calendar or possibly the family calendar downstairs). 

then he will be able to see where he is. 

he was feeling a bit out of sorts. 

today 

ok. it's the morning. horsemouth has just turned over the page on the triple negative calendar. (yay!)

judging by the weather forecast a watering of the plants is coming. 

it's bandcamp friday as well. as usual horsemouth is recommending you buy everything you do not yet own by musicians of bremen. (he knows they haven't got a song called everything you do not yet own but you know what he means plus that's a pretty good song title).  

no more bandcamp fridays until august now (so may as well get your purchases in now). 

in kilvert land (and time, on this day in 1872) he stays over for dinner at whitney rectory and then walks home under the stars.