Don't Get Me Started on the Jet Skiers.

Listening to Peng! by Stereolab




Some miasmic metronome here; a pulse like some song you cannot get out of your head but from beyond the county border, over there where they believe in all the things you got out of your mind long before they woke up and started thinking about things. They think all those illnesses come from the smell in the air, no such thing as bacteria to them. And the award to the best use of the phrase "doo - ooo - ahhhh" goes to ..... not that it matters who it goes to. Communists all.


The duck eggs were very tasty. There are still some left for breakfast at the weekend. They weren't particularly strong but they did taste somehow more like eggs if that makes sense.






The big news around our way is that Antony Gormley's statues that collectively make up Another Place are staying on the beach down the way from us. The statues have become a community art installation, something more than the rareified artefacts that most modern art is made up of these days. They are dressed up in all sorts of costumes, used as extras in Easter and Nativity plays and have become part of the background, sort of strangers at the dinner table with their reluctance to speak and stoicism in the face of the rough Irish Sea. I sometimes think of them when I remember the worst days that pound the promenade there, putting every one of those hundred soldiers under at least 10 feet of water. The problem is really that most of the complainants just can't stand Modern Art which has rung a bell in my head as being from The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy. Must visit them again at the weekend, in the wind and the rain hopefully.

I am quite enjoying my drive home at the moment. There is always good stuff on the radio. There is A Good Read on Tuesdays where Sue MacGregor and two guests each choose a book to talk about for ten minutes. Andrew Motion was one of the guests this week and selected The Peregrine by J.A. Baker, which surprised me. Motion even mentioned that there was an obvious Ted-Hughes influence on the book. Think of a flat marsh at dusk, with the cries of estuary birds scraped into ambience by the distance. Think of the mist coming down and a warm fire waiting at home. Think of a day with nothing to be done but what you want. It's all a long way from this place but keep thinking of it anyway. It needs to be done.