Monday, June 13, 2005

Heat, infirmity, poetry and madness. Plus a link to a recipe.

Gadzooks! The heat! The flies!

Opening my bedroom window is like opening an oven door - not an incredibly hot oven, mind, but hot enough to surprise you. And when it's as hot as this, the sky's always overcast. This is the start of the Harari Kibeera, The Big Heat. (Good name for a film, that.)

I've been studying when not teaching. A couple of afternoons I've sat out with the hubbly bubbly pipe and "Under Milk Wood" or "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" on the MP3 player.

I've managed somehow to get a cold. Probably a result of going between the extremes of air conditioning and the outdoors. I caramelised an absurd amount of garlic cloves (no hyperbole here, I mean ABSURD: dozens, about four bulbs' worth), and I munched my way through them yesterday evening; if that doesn't shake off the cold it'll keep vampires awayl; and everyone else, come to that.

Night before last around midnight, as I was lying awake, I heard a sound, approaching. Imagine a Second World War bomber with serious engine problems. It seemed to fly right over head, very low, and then away, north, over the Mediterranean. The others looked at me as if I was mad the next morning when I asked if anyone else had heard it.

Maybe I am going around the twist. Or the bend. Coming up to the half way point in the ten week cycle is always difficult. Get to week six, next week, and things will look a little easier.

That Little Gwion's a one, though, isn't he?