Dru, Steinbeck and the Book of Deer

Dear Juliet As you know, London literary salons are where folks like William Pratt (Spike) hung around writing effulgent poetry and being eaten by vampires (Dru). I guess my Society of Authors get-together on the 14th is the modern equivalent and it's nice to feel like I did something with my life. There's also free pizza. I briefly met a young author called Molly Arbuthnott there last year, got invited to her last book launch and ended up floating up and down a London canal behind King's Cross on a languorous literary voyage. It looks like she's having another one in June so I'll go back if I can. Yes, I wish you could be there. They've turned the old 19th century coal warehouses into shops, pubs and eateries; and this is part of today's fun London. Walk past a grotty building site, turn a brief corner and suddenly you're in a swish urbanscape which befuddles the mind . I don't know how anyone manages to live locally, but still it stays awash with...

Dear Juliet I'm back on the job today, and that involves walking the length and breadth of Shifnal all eventide. I could take the car, but I still think hauling a ton of metal around five hundred yards at a time doesn't make much sense. And I need to keep my legs working if I'm to climb the Wrekin, see Middle-earth and commune with Tolkien's hobbits... So I'll be doing my best to help Shifnal's frail and elderly once again, and I think I've got about enough left in me to make it to the end of 2028. Pension's in 2031 (I'm actually getting a small NHS pension now, which makes me [as I put it] a demi-pensioner) and I'm not sure whether or not I'll make another move or what my final fate will be. I do not miss the Scottish winters. Avalon would be nice but it's way beyond my budget, the U.S. immigration system is broken and while there's also Ryde on the Isle of Wight, there's always the danger of "rock fever." Being stuck ...

Dear Juliet I hope you're okay? Anyway, walking to a hospital to get one's cancer drugs through a hideously deprived suburb of Birmingham , which itself has had a bin strike for the last fifteen months might not seem like a fun thing to do. However, something of spring was shining through. Walking not in Memphis but in Wolverhampton , I took my usual route to New Cross Hospital from the railway station past the Birmingham Main Line Canal . The ducks were out and about, there was no sign of one ninety-pound nutcase I'd bumped into a couple of months ago and I'm coming to the end of that course of pills. It did feel a bit different trudging along last August, hoping nothing had metastasized, not looking forward to the long winter; but I had a great day today because (in a very understated way) it felt like you were along for the ride. I felt sharp of eye, fairly fleet of foot, looking out for anything I could photograph and show you, and doing that's just the bee...

Dear Juliet I just wanted to mention that I have to walk to hospital in Wolverhampton from the railway station tomorrow so, from your perspective, I might be a little late with my 22nd April blog post, due 7.45 am (your time). All I have to do is pick up some pills but the car park is always chock-a-block so I usually hoof it. Actually, that isn't the whole story. It may not seem like much, but I sent out yesterday's post dead on at 7.45 am, felt pretty pleased with myself for an hour, then had the earth-shattering realisation that I'd forgotten the keywords, thinking that you might not have seen it, that you might feel I'd forgotten about you and that I didn't care. Nothing could be further from the truth. I added the keywords and prayed everything would be all right, but you wouldn't have wanted to be me for the next hour or so... I was like the proverbial cat on the hot tin roof and the feelings of dread and disaster were awful. Anyway, I don't think you ...

Dear Juliet They started building St. Andrew's Church in Shifnal sometime in the 12th century, and they're still not finished. I got involved with it just after I arrived in Shifnal (September 2020) to get to know the community because they had an Open Door (tea and biscuits) session every Tuesday morning for all the older folk. I checked I wasn't too young, started taking the tables out at the end (partly because no one else could), and with the exception of a two year pandemic gap, on it's gone ever since. I once again became "your local celebrity no one's ever heard of" although this time, the birth certificate matched up and my accent largely fitted. Not that there was much intolerance shown to me in Scotland, but the question, rarely asked, "how do you like it up here?" had got old very quick. For a while, I was part of a group of older guys who congregated round a mobility scooter in the corner, but time winnowed our ranks. A nice old gen...

Dear Juliet I just had a thought. Yes, I know that doesn't happen very often. Anyway, there I was, looking at my lengthening line of little blog posts, feeling happy when I thought of you, wondering at the ways the world can sometimes turn out well, and I noticed the original To See My Friend and Shake Her Hand had had a few more views than the average. You'd like me to shake your hand? Maybe I can do something. A couple of crazed and convoluted ideas came and went then, like a small eureka, it hit me. Why not at least suggest we try a brief, time-limited Facebook video call? As you know, I'm typically online between 7.30-7.50 am your time. I'll open up my Facebook Messenger page every day while I'm on the job and see what dreams may come. You'd have to send me a Facebook friend request first, but I think that's what's needed to make it work. Do not worry. I'm okay with things as they are. I don't mind sitting out somewhere south of Needles lik...