Dear Diary,
Low lying clouds of fog kiss the tops of the hills, shrouding the trees and blanketing the sky on a dull Tuescoday morning. On the beginning of a journey up-north to visit my old man, to practice playing in his new rock 'n roll band. I left my belovèd blonde country-girl paramour at the bus stop after spending another sweat soaked marathon last night, just before watching Jackie Brown. Perhaps guiltily I think Jane Fonda plays a magnificent role in that flick. Janie'd prolly be so jealous so I'd best not go down that track. Anyhow.
Reluctantly re-awakening to a sticky bed snuggle, subsequent shower, slices of toast, I set off for Worcester. Snuggles in synchronicity, duendé, that moment of parallel pleasure, nostalgia, making memories, making love.
My maiden and I have many shared interests: growing gormet mushrooms, cultivating cuisine herbs, viticulture, distilling, mixing magick potions from the 'shrooms, 'erbs, and strong drink. What a woman. I wrote her a poem in my calligraphic hand, she's painting me a picture, I'll write her a song.
Another local artist painted me last weekend. I asked to buy the original, I am playing the guitar in the master-piece.
I am still feeling warm and fuzzy. A week away from my paramour may be a long week. Rock 'n roll!
Stay On the Flex,
Maximus.
Post-Script: (at 10:30 Great British-SummerTime) Thinking about it some more, Sweet Hazy Janie and I have much more in common that transcends injesting victuals, merely becoming sedated through psycadelic colourful concoctions: strange brew giving us giggles. Aye. The fact my new maiden knew the Latin names for the monogomy tree genus, she's addicted to time team, archæology, and in particular local history. When on the blower to my old man last night it was nice her understanding the words grockles: emmits; when my northerner pataphamelius was blissfully unaware of such yokel idiom.
We both gave up drinking cyder.
We're now bang-on real-ale instead, Proper Job, arrr!
As I am departed from my belovèd Janie I spied a lone magpie, then a solitary deer, and yet another lone magpie - perhaps the same one.
Janie has cats - the avian allies ancient enemy - which follow her to the shops and all about town. Four cats, one dog, and two sprogs all now grown up.
I noticed Weymouth still thriving after the Olympic sprawl. I managed to make my connection okay. I am buzzing, getting well into learning about the ethics of displaying remains in museums. Stay the f- On the Flex Maxy.
Post-Post Script: I just spotted another lone magpie. That's thrice today.
