Sunday, September 11, 2005
A Busy Sunday
September 11th is a date that history itself shall never forget. What happened changed the world and it is hard to believe that four years have now passed since I watched those terrible images flashing across my television screen. I remember it like yesterday, and it still seems so incredible to think that something like that could happen, or that someone would wish it to happen.
For those who died, for those who lived through it, for those who lost loved ones and for those still haunted, let it be known that the people of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Northern Ireland and all its Territories are with you by your side and that we share your burden with a firm belief of freedom and respect for all.
I got up reasonably early and had breakfast with Laura. We watched some Tom & Jerry then put on a Simpson's DVD until Gail got up. I get slagged from people all the time who say I'm nothing but a big kid. But I like being a kid, and I'll never fully grow up. Maybe it's immaturity, maybe I just like having fun, I don't care. All I know is, I get to spend time on Laura's wavelength and we can enjoy ourselves. I become more of her big brother as opposed to her Dad and it feels great. She'll be grown up soon and when that happens the chance to be a kid with her will be gone.
I hit the office for most of the day. I washed down all the wooden areas then undercoated them; the door, door frame, skirting, window frames and the book shelves in the garage, all done on a single pot of paint. I worked to the tunes of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, a band me and Dave decided last night we were going to get tickets to go and see in mid-October when they come to Edinburgh. Should be an interesting night out, that one. If you don't know much about them, I'll explain when I come to blog about the gig nearer the time.
I was splattered in white undercoat by the time the sun was beginning to settle, but it was all worthwhile because Gail made a cracking Sunday dinner; steak, parsnips, stuffing, Yorkshire puddings, chips and onion gravy. Deeee-lish!!
My after dinner coffee went down a beauty and as I sank into the couch I knew it would be a struggle to get up and do anything else. I got my notebook out and left it open beside me but I made more tea and coffee and watched a film with Gail; MIB 2. Throwaway sci-fi nonsense but a good laugh nonetheless.
I had emailed my editor at KIC earier in the day to pitch another idea about the Great Scottish Authors series. I didn't think the Ian Rankin article could be justified just being published in the newsletter and so put it to her she could use the article to help regain some form of dignity should she have it on the website and use it in some promotion.
She agreed, and while it means I have put some pressure on her to make sure KIC doesn't disappear down a void, it also means I can squeeze as many pubilshing credits out of KIC as possible before it probably does.
I went to bed and then my Muse kicked in. "No way you're going to sleep after sitting on your arse all night!" she yelled.
Poem after poem poured out of me, all of them for the Fringe Festival book. In the space of an hour and a quarter I had written 28 poems in all; some long, some short, some humorous, some serious, some colourful, some grim. My Muse was more tired than me when I finished and turned out the light.