Snooker Murder Poverty BMX Gun Patrol Jam

Monday 28th January 2019

Morning pages reiterated the great Cumberland Arms gig featuring Jazz Riot, Nev Clay, Werbeniuk, Swine Tax and Thomas Truax. Then a ride to Consett after Jenni left for work. I got home around twenty-past twelve, my throat sore and my back damp. I spent a couple of hours reading FRAMED by Ronnie O’Sullivan. It’s his first novel of three that Jenni got me for my birthday. Enjoying it so far. Fast paced murder story. Easy raw prose. Sweary. My sort of thing. Then a load of flash fiction as prep for a workshop. Wrote one I’m quite pleased with. Probably send it to a FF site in a couple of weeks. Wish the sore throat business would fuck off. Hope I feel better tomorrow. Need to go to bed. 11.13 pm.

Tuesday 29th January 2019

Struggled today. Throat sore. Scratchy cough. Read some more of Ronnie’s book on the bus. Session at Waddy went well. Freewriting. ‘Does She Like Word Games?’ exercise. Cinquain and Tanka. X21 bus to Newcastle. Jenni gave me some pizza. Then a search for Beechams Hot Lemon powder. Met up with Alix Alixandra and David O’Hanlon for an hour or so. Jenni went with them to a second pub but feeling a bit rough I got an early bus home. Changed into winter multiple layers. Ate cheese on toast. Watched Brexit bullshit on Newsnight. Still think we won’t leave. Maybe in name only. 11.18 pm.

Wednesday 30th January 2019

Another struggle. Took till lunchtime to get at the desktop computer. Lots of little bits and pieces to clear up. I keep saying YES to things and consequently get to do fuck-all of what I really want done. I want to complete Anomalies Deluxe then just do yearbooks. Annuals of journal, verse, flash fiction and essays. I’m trying to write an essay for Durham University Poetry Society but all I can really do is tell my personal story. I’m often asked for the same info by different people. My methods are pretty repetitive. Poets don’t write plots. They take snapshots. They catch magic. They share epiphanies. They don’t invent reasons why people who don’t really exist should move from A to B and what might be a good way of stopping said people doing so. Fuck it. Minus Two indoors tonight. 10.58 pm.

Thursday 31st January 2019

Bitter cold last night so seven top layers required: t-shirt, long-sleeve, fleece, jumper, dressing gown, slanket and duvet. Two pairs of joggers and four pairs of socks. Decided to go to Consett for some food and fresh air. Home around one with a library copy of 'Poverty Safari – Understanding the Anger of Britain’s Underclass' by Darren McGarvey. Read intro and a few chapters: Grenfell, crime and punishment, running workshops in prisons, domestic violence, – strong stuff. Did a piece intended for Durham University Poetry Society – basically scrapped preliminary morning pages notes and wrote a thousand words off the cuff about small press journey and Poetry Jam. All-day breakfast. Prepped Friday workshop. Now enduring the babble of government spokespeople as they circumnavigate the big questions about Brexit and homelessness. Temperature below zero again. Lucky to be indoors. 11.27 pm.

Friday 1st February 2019

After row upon row of six- and seven-grand motorbikes without engines (AKA full-suspension downhill mountain bikes) in Start Cycles, I see in a far corner amongst the ‘Frog’ brand kiddies’ bikes a handsome 26-inch GT Performer cruiser BMX – transportation in a nanosecond back to my teens. Such a handsome machine. Pale blue. Curved downtube, standing platform, layback seat post and comfy padded saddle, proper riser bars with mushroom texture grips. Single speed. Three-piece crank. Gum wall street tyres on chrome rims. Front calliper brake, rear V-brake. I envisage Eddie Fiola pulling old-school flatland moves... Because the bike is proportioned to suit someone my current size it looks an ideal model for an adult to stunt ride. It looks like a bike I should be riding towards my fifties. That single cog set-up allowing me to rollback, rockwalk and kick-turn till my heart’s content. At £699.00 I could almost be tempted into a proper job to pay for it. But with these knees! One can dream. Moments later I’m back in 2019, joints aching, nose dripping – but happy memories of street tricks keep me buzzing all the way to Eldon Square. Next stop: vinyl recollections before HMV closes full stop. 3.36 pm.

*

And if that wasn’t Paul Weller

coming out of the record shop it’s

someone trying very hard to be him.

*

But what the fuck

Armed police in the shopping precinct

Rifles at the ready

No-one batting a fucking eyelid

Saturday 2nd February 2019

Today has been pretty good. Nice long lie in. Bowl of porridge. Chats with Jenni about poetry and my unease with academia. Enjoyed a few game shows this afternoon. Melted Red Leicester on baguette for tea. Plus an out of date trifle that didn’t kill me. Good to get Born Lippy set sequenced while Jenni is out hosting a 1920’s Speakeasy at the Assembly Rooms. Might read a bit of Ronnie O’Sullivan before bed. 10.00 pm.

Sunday 3rd February 2019

Morning pages gave me another Steve Achieves. Jen stayed in bed till well after twelve so I got it typed up. I admit precious little of what I scribble in those things could be considered an achievement, but no matter. I’m on schedule with posts and will get some sort of book out of the project after a year. Ate cheese on toast, watched Les Miserables catch-up and dancing on ice. Packed up my stuff four hours early, so I could make a quick getaway after the final evening broadcast episode of Les Mis to Consett… Bus windows open. Fucking middle of winter and people have the pissing windows open… Anyway, I’m done now. Can scroll Facebook or read a bit of Ronnie till I get back to Steeltown. 10.36 pm.