My eyes were stapled open by the time I arrived back in this place on Sunday, after driving for about 6 hours.

For the first time in an age, I encountered a hitch hiker, and would have given him and his large knife a lift, if it wasn’t for the fact that I was going in exactly the opposite direction. As it was, I had to make do with my own company.

It was strange on the way down. I called in to see a friend in Bristol, and discovered by chance that she lives about 200 yards from a house I stayed in, in 1991, before and after my first Glastonbury. The occupant who I knew hasn’t spoken to me for about 8 years, for reasons I never found out, and I decided that turning up unannounced could then warrent a call from the police (as, I suppose, would wishing a happy birthday in a couple of weeks). A shame, but even though you can recognise the waste, you have to move on. I’d got lost trying to find where I was going, and found myself outside a pub that I remembered from back then.

The week itself was a challenge, but was fun. We had a great team, and a great laugh, and I’ll see them all again.

But the 6 hour drive back was tiring. When I got back I wrote a blog entry (2004-03-01) and tried to watch the Oscars. I was too tired, and eventually went to sleep.

I love to be camping in the rain. The patter of the drops on what once would have been canvas makes you feel safe (till you remember the chance of lightening) and warm (if you remembered to bring suitable clothes or a warm sleeping bag).

I want to move away from being a runner on films. I want to get named crew positions.

Challenge:

Think of your last 3 birthdays and try to remember how you celebrated.

I’d like to travel across America on a Greyhound.

Better start saving for a large supply of dog biscuits.

Spring is coming.

A year ago, preparations were underway for a trip to Brighton. Staying in a guest house on the sea front, almost, near the Pier that didn’t burn down.

It was hot. I have pictures of the trip (tenuous link via Photo menu on the left), including a visit to Shorham (sp?) airport and to Saltdean lido, a wonderful art deco building.

Brighton itself was good. Beth Orton played at the Pavilion theatre, during a day in which had included an unexpected meet with a friend of mine, JP, and several pints. That was top. He was visiting his brother. We went to a haven of cool whose name I’ve forgotten, until it was time to leave them in order to get more food.

The place rocks. I want to go back. Soon.

What is it with builders?

I need one to build a new staircase, and to fit a kitchen and make some general repairs. Nothing outstanding. But some good money for basic work.

And yet… yet I can’t get the bloody work done. Its driving me mad. The house feels like a prison, no-one I speak to takes it seriously, and the builders continue to fail to turn up. I’m at the point now of moving out, selling it as it is, making a massive loss, because I can’t take it any more.

Convention is the ability to remove individual thought.

At times, I’m tempted to use this blog – well, more like a blog. At the moment its my note book. Hence repetitious versions of poems, half paragraphs of stories I might one day write, and the odd thought or two.

Posts are all stored most recent first. This makes it a challenge to read some of the snippets of stories. A thousand* apologies.

*The size of apologies may vary according to seasonal availability.