Christopher's Online Journal

The new computer duly arrived. As did the video, The Conversational Nature of Reality: A Conversation with David Whyte posted on Youtube on my birthday. And so begins the journey of learning what I do not understand in my poetry. Qu'est-ce que c'est. A lifetime's work. Last night I watched again Phantom Thread , a somewhat trigonometrical viewpoint to expose for me many of my shortcomings (also my good points). Daniel Day Lewis is the awkward, belligerent, stylish dressmaker who falls in love with Vicky Krieps a waitress in a seaside cafe (was it Whitby). They are stubbornly kept apart by Lesley Manville who is if nothing else determined. Tomorrow it is the final. Will the 24 million viewers be topped. How long will the euphoria last, if indeed there is any euphoria at all. 1966 was a big year for me, I went to Wembley to watch the FA Cup Final, which I remembered earlier today, as I answered the questions in week 26 of my journey to the authentic self. Make of that what y

Our neighbour has passed away. The house we live in used to be his house. His house is where we would go for drinks and cakes. He has lived up this little lane for such a long time. How will we remember him? Maybe we could name our house Next Door To Pete's , yes that should do it. I'm an interloper really. I've only been here for fifteen years. But I was made welcome. Pete and his wife Ann loved to tell of their earlier days in Louth. They asked me to read and write poetry. They were thankful, and grateful for what I gifted to them. Which of course was no more than my turning around the very stories which they themselves had given out. Pete once told me that his father had walked from Scotland to Louth with cloth which he would sell door to door. I believed him entirely. Actually, Pete would tell his stories many times over. He was a charming man. A well-dressed man. A good shopkeeper. A loving and loved husband. A loving and loved parent. He was also, which we only found