Tuesday April 1, 2008
If anyone tries April Fooling me today I shall beat them about the head with a large pig’s bladder on a stick. I’m not in the mood.
I shook hands yesterday with the guy who’s going to be our new agent and am scheduled to speak to him tomorrow. He’ll do.
Graham is still pursuing the Post Office prospect, not just behind the counter but also on the delivery walks about the town. He’s often spoken of the latter as his dream job, getting paid for going for a walk. I can see that. His mother, however, is horrified at the thought of either job, seeing dangers and hazards at every turn. When he reported that to me yesterday evening I remarked that she was simply doing the mother’s job; a remark that was not too well received, but what can you say?
March turned up trumps at the very end, presenting us with a lovely Spring day, and April has started out much the same. There are rain showers forecast of course but that’s as it should be for April. On and on for hours and hours.
Each day now I’m turning more and more frequently to my poetry books, and tending to stay longer, too. My own muse has snuggled down again, and pulled the blanket over her shoulder against the draught, but I’m confident she’ll be properly awake soon, demanding tea and toast.
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
–from Prufrock; T.S. Eliot