What she actually said was, “Let them eat Brioche”. Which is what the French used to eat for breakfast anyhow. Allegedly. I decided that one of the best ways to stay warm was to have a full belly. So I made a vegetable ragu with pasta, sprinkled with some of that nutritional yeast. It was munch and it bumped up the heat too.

I decided to make a cake. Why not!? That will warm the house up too. Chocolate Cherry Cake with fake eggs. But I will tell you this, the non-dairy cheese sauce is absolutely rank. I reckon I might be able to get away with a mild bechemal type sauce if I want to do Cauliflower Cheese again.

Writing yesterdays post reminded me of how it felt when Marty first showed up. That was at a Chuck Perkins performance that was spectacular. I forget the name of the U.K. poet he was visiting. That day, Rico of Jools Hollands Jazz Band fame showed up too. Both very pleasant men to talk with.

To be a writer of the calibre of Chuck Perkins, now that would be something. I think it was that day that I first saw Marty. He’d come to do some filming. I saw his shoes and the rest is history… I have to type all my stuff for the rescheduled reading party any how so I’ll share a couple of pieces from that time. Not the best stuff though, I’m feeling a bit precious about it. Clingy.

“I can feel you watching me. I like it, because I have been watching you too. In my mind we talk like lovers. So far the best thing that you have said to me is, “I want to touch you”. “Where?”, I ask. You reply without thought, “All over, in time, but for now I want to touch you here”.

Then without asking, you pick up my hand and walk your fingers over the inside of my wrist. You do not peer intently into to my eyes; you study my wrist as if it is the finest thing you have ever seen. I hope you are watching me, because you like me too and not because of my builders bum as I mop the floor.”

Someone found a gurney in the prop room and we set it up by the bar. A communal bar stool if you will. We had so many fun times on that thing. We once dressed it up as a bull (complete with horns) and pretended to ‘do rodeo’ on it. Eventually, we had to take it away, we had been a little energetic and it was no longer safe. The you in this case is all of them.

“The here and nowness of it all.

The sitting and watching the youness of it all.

The newness of it all.

The feeling that it has always been this way,
yet not demanding it stay this way.

The comfortable sitting on trolleyness of it all.

Feeling five and joyful, sat in dim lightness of it all.

The todayness of it all.”

Paint usually made an appearance at some point. At the Artistic Director’s leaving do and I painted a poem I had written for her on the wall. The Dancers took the excess paint and threw it on the floor. Everyone was sliding around in it and walking over paper. It wasn’t long before someone fell, of course. I didn’t realise till I got home that they were all wet when they where hugging me and I too was covered in Red Paint.

Someone commented on that picture the other day. I haven’t seen it since then. This Friday, we are all meeting up again. The Artistic Director is in town to organise a cultural exchange with London. Who knows what we will create together this time round.

Chuck Perkins – Frenchmen Desire Good Children.

Someone told me it was Martin Luther King day, but I thought that was 15th January.

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