Christopher's Online Journal

The vacation is over, a week after the G7 we too were in Carbis Bay, though not in the £6,200-00 a week hotel on the beach, where we watched the guests having a barbecue, cooked and served by their very own private chef - oh how the other half live. Instead we tucked into the stickiest flapjack in the world, while watching the surf school kids learn their stuff, some of whom were attentive, some who were there clearly  to have fun; reminders of how we were back in the day. Tate St Ives was quiet, ok we did go on a Sunday, but without the café open what is there to attract the punters. I did buy a notebook, and a postcard of  Horizontal Stripe Painting   by  Patrick Heron painted between  November 1957 - January 1958, was it a slow winter? For a number of years, I have been encouraging my son Joseph, who lives in Devon to catch up with the St Just artist Kurt Jackson. We went the backroads through what Marija felt was real Cornwall to the Jackson Foundation gallery where paintings of fi

Having seen the wonderful photographs of Peter and Jane Conner's decking and gardens, and having been with them to Malcolm Tait's brilliant exhibition at the North Sea Observatory, I was inspired to show a collection of my decking works now that the rain has come to my rescue... The ratchet screwdriver has called it a day, new tools are awaited, alas a vacation is awaited, the decking may have to wait for some time. Thankfully, if you can go with that, the poetry will always be waiting in the wings... Structures And Constructions You were modifying a house By the beach, somewhere overseas Lots of ContiBoard involved Sheets and sheets of it, dividing The big rooms, which, for the moment Contained only beds; single beds, double Beds; two, three, and four beds to a room They were long beds, very long beds With Aztec or Arabian designer covers You showed me all through the house I asked who the beds were for; the Children showed me which ones They were using, then we went outside

A power outage brought the writing group to a standstill, or rather it did for me because the others were able to carry on. Whereas I was stranded, with no way of knowing how long the disturbance would last; what could I do, how could I be in awareness when so clearly among the impermanence. In any event, the power interruption became the focus for a poetry workshop. I now present you with the skeleton of the session for you to work up your own poetry. 

 On the first day of June, in strong sun, after the morning's sea fret we began the next stage of construction, such that by mid-afternoon we had our second planter in place, even with a break for a fish and chip lunch by the canal. But today the grandchildren are visiting, so the workmen's tools are put away, and the paddling pool is restored to the garden. Though first, no doubt, we will take a trip to the beach, there to lay on the sand to wade in the water. The beach came a day later, such was the enthusiasm for playing in the garden; we set out under grey skies, yet warm, and when the clouds relaxed their presence the sun was strong enough to leave me with sunburnt feet. The paddling pool is turned into a washing out area, to release the tadpoles from the algae which has taken over the pond, this then is the impetus for a second pond, without a pump, at the bottom of the garden, for next years frogspawn and tadpoles.