Author: albarclay

Back in town. A little impromptu diversion on the way home took us to tiny Tudor villages in Kent, and a pub lunch at The Spotted Dog. Lou is off to India, as I keep reminding her, and my curiosity about that country has come to the fore. I’ve never been, she’s covered a lot of ground there over the years. I’m curious.

A course in a hot place. It’s a good response to jobs falling through. She’ll go somewhere beautiful and learn something new. I take my hat off to that. She was gonna be on tour for a month but instead she’ll be hot and curious.

I’m happy to be home even if it was great to be in the woods, but Lou’s impulse India trip has led to me obsessively checking Jack’s Flight Club hoping for cheap flights to Japan so I can satisfy my urge to walk Shikoku. Although I miss my friends right now. Gonna have to be organised and arrange to see people. Not everyone can be quite so responsive as I’ve been lately. Tomorrow I’ll be back doing bonkers random things for cash, and then if I’m not an idiot I’ll be best served working on my flat…

Right now bedtime. Blanket is on. I’m gonna have to get out of this bath.

Lou and I thought we might make it back to London but the flight we were meeting was delayed. It’s ten to 1 in the morning and we are about to doss down on a pullout bed in front of the fire in the chateau des chats. The bedroom has been returned to the rightful owner.

Carlos has immediately plopped next to us for warmth. Rajah is out in the garden looking for more friendly mice to play with until they fall apart and get abandoned on the sofa where one can tread on them barefoot in the morning.

Loads of driving today. We witnessed a superb example of emergency passenger dusk pee-break on the south circular. “That’s your blog sorted,” Lou said and at the time as now I wondered how to write vividly about some guy sprinting out of the car in front on a traffic queue into a dark driveway, and then returning guiltily but joyfully but in time, and failing to get back in the door for ages. It was an entertaining watch primarily due to the complete lack of stealth combined with the accepted physicality of “I am being furtive right now don’t look at me.” He’ll never be a spy, but he can definitely sprint and he has a jetwash for a prostate but then he is only about twenty. We thought maybe his friend would continue the joke of locking him out of the car, but the traffic was about to start moving. It was a bit of humanity. A live solution. Two idiots in their twenties with an expensive car already. How do they manage it? I was driving a clapped out golf at that age.

I’m glad to stop. I’m knackered and my wrist is angry about something. Back to London tomorrow. Sleep now as he fire crackles and the car purrs…

Another cold and rainy day. Sheets of water in the air like we’re in a cloud. “Let’s go to the cinema.”

Just down the road, in Rye, an old church hall has been converted into an eccentric “Kino”. About 30 comfy chairs laid out in front of a screen. We could choose between The Holdovers and Poor Things. I wanted to see them both. We chose Poor Things for costume and the fact it was slightly later.

It is bonkers and absolutely joyful. Emma Stone is attacking that part with a humour and ease that is infectious. No wonder her face arrests and dominates on that poster. She carries the movie gloriously. I’m gonna spoil nothing, but I can easily say it’s worth seeing.

A British film. I’m very happy once again that our industry can still punch like that. Great Americans in the leads will always help the international market. This mad movie is exactly what the Tories weren’t thinking of when the lazy idiots told us to try and make blockbusters. And that is why it ought to gather a fine stash of accolades. Mark Ruffalo character acting, some strong and full cameos – some by less recognisable faces, some by beloved practitioners more known for stage. I didn’t recognise Kathryn Hunter!

I’m glad we saw it in the cinema. It’s wants a big screen. The worldbuilding, the colour. Even the dynamic of guffawing in a room full of strangers at unexpected linguistic choices. It’s a charming screenplay. Adapted from a Scottish book and moved from Glasgow to London, which would upset the novel’s recently deceased writer, but … that’s most likely some sort of concession to production and the international market, to make it notionally more familiar. I was happy to feel it rooted in my city and not my father’s. And it seems to be selling well. Even in Rye at 3.10pm on a horrid day we were not the only couple in the cinema.

It was £33 for two, and worth it. Hell if we don’t keep going back to the cinema it’s another option taken from us. I’m sure someone would love to turn that place into IKEA flats all owned by the same guy and shoved into Airbnb. As was it was a little comfy friendly hub in the middle of the rain, where we could all share a well made story by a team of delightful practitioners. It looks extraordinary, the acting is bold and on point. The score is unusual and bold. Even the colouring. There’s so much to love. And he shot it all on film. Which adds so much weight to every take. It seems to have helped everything ping into a proper goddamn filmic film film to see in the cinema. Glad we did.

Up and out to Rye. Lou came over by train. I haven’t been here for any length of time really. Just a few days. But I’ve barely seen another human. Rye is a small town but it felt crowded to me.

We found a coffee shop where people kept coming up to the table asking if we wanted anything. Even that had me feeling momentarily flooded out, and I told them I wasn’t hungry when I was. “If we want something we will ask, thanks.” So… we went home (via the fabric shop, inevitably.)

Vegetables and sauce. Lou has just booked herself an Ayurvedic Course in India next month. She’s been hankering after that country for so long, and with all the recent accidents she’s had to put up with I’m glad she’s found a positive hook to pull her forward even if it means I won’t see her much in Spring. She’ll be back in time for the bluebells. We had healthy food and lay around with the cats and the fire and now it is still early but her sleep patterns can be contagious and I have a feeling I’ll be down before ten tonight.

Carlos still tries to sleep on top of me, but he’s not used to me turning in before midnight so I’m sure he’ll be behaving strangely later on. But I’m tired. I did just have a glass of whisky which tends to knock me out. I might just surf the wave into sleep.

India has been invading my dreams since Lou booked. I had an argument with a companion in the dream space last night because they wanted to die in Varanasi and thereby end their karmic cycle of birth and death. “But it’s fun!” was my predictable objection. Not the best argument, but right now it IS. I recently got to work on a nice thing. If my work is rolling my happiness is rolling with it. Whatever blockage I constructed in my twenties is breaking and shifting properly now. And I’m enjoying that whole energetic game of karma and shift. Where next? Back to London first, I guess, and all the damn people. Two more nights in the woods first, with Lou. Come say hi if you’re a lucid dreamer. The cats help keep me in REM, and they are amplifiers anyway. They tend to sleep either side of me.

Moon through clouds. The wind picking up and dropping as it does. I’m in the night garden.

The daffodils are just away from committing. Some of the enthusiastic fools popped their heads up and got drenched. Others are still waiting, but close. Snowdrops.

It is peaceful here.

There’s a bird feeder, which is the new TV. Fatballs. How did 4 fatballs vanish from the feeder when I was away a couple of days? A mystery? No. A squirrel. Fucker.

I’ve seen YouTube videos of a man in America giving up trying to make his birdfeeder squirrel proof and just making a ridiculous assault course for the squirrel. Knowing it is pointless in theory isn’t the same as failing in practice. He’s been lifting the lid. I have jammed it with twigs. His move. This is why mammals took over from dinosaurs.

Meanwhile I’ve applied for a pension. Equity… They needed the number for the recent movie and it brought home to me how long it has been since I had an Equity contract even though I’ve paid my subs every year for long enough that I’m almost due my geriatric discount. Three missed calls from my agent had me dreaming that another of the tapes had landed. Not yet. But they will. The energy is moving as the moment. But it was just admin.

I’ll be off to bed shortly. Cooked up a storm this evening, with meaty delights that Lou would abominate. She’s here from tomorrow so I’ll be less meaty, wake up earlier and feel less alone.

I’ve enjoyed turning into a hermit here. I could live like this for years, eventually becoming monosyllabic but speaking fluent cat. I’ve started to get to know the local trees. And it feels like being a grown-up having to open and close the curtains with the light. I’ve lived high up for too long. Time to plug into the earth.

A peaceful day today. I’m writing to you as I sit in front of another early evening fire that I’m starting. There’s half a bottle of wine that I may or may not look at. I’ll cook something once the fire has taken.

Carlos has decided that sitting on me is the best place. Wherever I am. Whatever I’m doing. Last night he spent all night in the Pickle place. That’s where the tiny cat who introduced me to cat keeping would position herself for maximum warmth and contact, and minimum chance of being kicked. Curled up by my heart. I’m a radiator so he enjoyed the heat, but since I woke he has been following me around. If I’m still he clambers on me. If I’m not he shouts until I am. I’ve had to break up some territorial disputes with Rajah now as Carlos is pretty much certain that I’m his property. His personal pillow.

Camden council issued me a very dodgy fine for badly signposted road restrictions on October. I drove into them trying to avoid them. The signs were atrociously placed. I appealed it and then went and did Christmas Carol before the result. My appeal failed for weasel reasons and I was too busy to notice until I missed the deadline to go to the adjudicator and win. As a result they now want £204 for something that was entirely their fault. And I have to pay as I missed the appeal window. I kinda took my foot off the gas as I knew my original appeal was ironclad. But not according to them. And now they’ve got me over a barrel. £204 quid. For a bullshit restriction where the signs pushed me into offence. Absolute fuckers. I hope the guy who wrote the letter gets raw and itchy bollocks for a month.

I’m catching up with admin. About time really. There’s a lot to catch up on. Thankfully I’ve got tomorrow as well.

Here I am, in front of a fire I just made. Hopefully it’ll take.

My bed has been colonised by two pussycats.

I went to Waitrose. Jempson’s is just round the corner but it’s closed on a Sunday and I needed a large amount of stuff. Jempson’s was bought by Morrison’s at some point but they have kept their individual branding and timings for now, until the combine finally harvests their individuality.

I bought a poussin. Had a little Sunday roast for one with the augmentation of a 2016 bottle of Medoc, half of which went in the gravy. I too am a slave to the idea we should roast something on a Sunday. Now I’m watching this fire I’ve made. Before I go to bed I’ll have to edit sound files and position cameras and lights so I can send a tape for a character described as “dischevelled middle aged man”. Could’ve been written for me. But tonight I’m gonna be here with the logs.

I grew up with coal fires. Trevor and Wendy had a log fire. “Why is their fireplace so wide?” I asked dad. “It’s for burning wood and it burns so quickly they need loads of it,” dad replied. I see his point. I’m getting through it. It is great to have a fire though.

Back at Eyreton I always had to set the fire in the morning. I am perhaps better at coal setting than wood setting, but fire is fire.

I’ve moved a beanbag in front of this. I’m gonna chill a bit, then wash and set up the camera and edit sound. Hopefully will have it all ready to ping tomorrow at dawn. They gave me a week for this one, and I want to celebrate them for doing so. I haven’t had headspace until now.

My impulsive eBay bidding has made more bulk for the kitchen. Lou bought a Champion juicer a couple of years ago, and I always look at it longingly when I’m round hers. Someone in Hebden Bridge was flogging one. Collection only. I made a modest bid and was surprised to win.

Champion first started making juicers in 1955, and this model has really stood the test of time. It weighs a ton. It’s made out of nylon and stainless steel. And it’s pretty easy to clean.

It chews your fruit. It sits there on your kitchen worktop reminding you to be healthy, and occasionally you shove a load of carrots and apples and ginger in it and it chews it all up for you. “Scientists” say that the chewing action is more efficient or healthier or whatever. It’s a great big appliance that you use once a month and think you’ll use daily. And this one is now mine.

There’s still a market for the things. I put down a bid on this one up to £75 and it came in at under £60 but I’ll have to go up to God’s country to get it. The other one that was on eBay sold for £82 so I’m happy with the deal. I’ve messaged the owner and asked if it can wait until after the 22nd when I’m not longer catsitting.

There’s a business on Etsy that sharpens the masticator blade. That’s how many of these are still in use around the country. I’m hoping my one won’t need sharpening though. It looks like it hasn’t seen hard use.

I got into juicing things when dad was fighting off cancer and took to eating nothing but juice and supplements for about three years. We would make a “green juice” with something a bit like a Champion for him, twice daily. It was a huge detox he was experiencing, but it certainly helped push him into remission for a while.

I’ll bring it into my flat, and the first week I will make loads of juice with it. After that I’ll either look at it guiltily from time to time, or sign up to some mail order thing where some guy shows up on your doorstep once a week with a bucket full of unwanted kumquats.

First I’ll have to get the thing from Hebden Bridge.

Eventually I got in the car. Two hours only this time back down to the woods. Last time traffic pushed it to almost six.

Now here I am in the peace and quiet. It is very odd being here without Lou. I keep almost saying things to her before I remember she’s back in Brighton with Tessy.

The cat mum is more a friend of Lou than of mine. I was pleased and surprised when I was asked to do this. When I first came down Lou jumped in with me and we had the first few days here together. It was lovely nesting here. It rained pretty much constantly so we stayed in and caught quick walks in the windows. It helped give me the ease I sometimes can’t find when I’m in somebody else’s home. It takes me ages to let myself cook in an unfamiliar kitchen, usually. In digs I’ll often blow way too much of my fee on takeaways rather than risk someone who loses their shit if you cook eggs in the fish pan or whatever. Here I’m already in the habit of cooking. I feel comfortable using the pots.

When I rolled in this evening the first thing I did after checking the cats was make dinner, and now I’m just remembering the quiet and contemplating an early bed.

The cats, of course, are fine. They’ve had someone else looking after them the last few days and really, with access to the outside world, they’d both probably manage if nobody was here. It’s nice for them to have company though. Someone to bring dead mice to. Someone to put down easy food and easy water and stroke them while talking nonsense.

Hopefully I’ll be able to settle here now until she’s back, and get some writing done. There’s plenty of stuff backed up and this peaceful place feels like a possibility at getting it squared off. I’ve got my iPad and Steamdeck and Kindle with me so it’s not like I won’t have the option of distraction. But with structured days next week I should get back home with less hanging over me.

A cup of chamomile and a blast of warmth from the electric blanket. I’m thinking it might be time to switch the heating off again… Not that the world is warm again round here. More to try and encourage it to be so.

The morning was glorious today. That’s undeniable. Bright sun and crisp light. I was walking the streets and over to the park. I’m hoping it stays like this, as I’ll be back to the wood and the cats tomorrow, after my expensive lack of a trip to Budapest.

Today has been pleasantly still. No real pressure to achieve. Somewhere in Wales, a letter has been posted telling me the consequences of an administrative fuckup that I’m still dealing with. I need an accountant. The court will likely hit me with a figure I can’t afford and needlessly make things harder in terms of the admin. My initial resistance was when I was quoted an eye-watering sum. Now I’m in trouble.

But the world is glorious. Brian and I watched John Wick 4, the ridiculous shooty end to a ridiculous shooty fantasy. Now I’m having my happy hot toddy and staring down the barrel of Dreamland.