Sunday, 9 June 2013

Low Tide05:31 (0.80m)
High Tide11:55 (2.50m)
Low Tide18:02 (0.60m)
Sea temperature: not taken
Sea conditions: Rough, scary, I didn't go in
Weather: cold, windy, raining, dreich - good January weather as someone shouted to me on the way to the beach
Joined by: just DK, The Poet and me this morning.
The Light Entertainment had sent a text excusing herself, she has Miss Lush and the children staying, they'd been to the Rocky Horror Show the night before, and bacon sandwiches were being demanded. She said she felt bad not to be sharing the dreich with us, and she gave me a heads up that the boss was on his way.
The Poet was clearly bursting to tell us something interesting, he was hopping from foot to foot, and he didn't disappoint: A mutual friend is part of an art show SNIP/SNAP at Aldeburgh and their private view was last night, The Poet had been and was enjoying the work, chatting about the manifesto, standing by a large installation made from interlocking wooden pyramids. He was directed to hard copies of the manifesto, turned quickly and as he did so he somehow (even he is not quite sure how) touched the structure behind him and the whole thing fell apart, tumbling to the floor in pieces. Fortunately the artist, who was there at the time, saw this as a development of the work rather than destruction, so I guess he is now a collaborative artist...
From their manifesto: "Alarming us of things to come, these youngsters don’t just put their foot in the door. They kick it down!"

We then had a short surreal conversation that went something like this:
Poet: "My Mother's coming to stay tomorrow."
Me: "My Mother's coming for our quarterly lunch today."
DK: "My Mother's dead."

This naturally lead on to the poem that my Mother had sent me yesterday:

Your Dad Did What?

Where they have been, if they have been away,
or what they've done at home, if they have not -
you make them write about the holiday.
One writes My Dad did. What? Your Dad did what?

That's not a sentence. Never mind the bell.
We stay behind until the work is done.
You count their words (you who can count and spell);
all the assignments are complete bar one

and though this boy seems bright, that one is his.
He says he's finished, doesn't want to add
anything, hands it in just as it is.
No change. My Dad did. What? What did his Dad?

You find the 'E' you gave him as you sort
through reams of what this girl did, what that lad did,
and read the line again, just one 'e' short:
This holiday was horrible. My Dad did. 

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