"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde
On my visit to friend Kirsty last week she reminded me of the LALI club, which we founded some time ago. Its basic principles are derived from a fantastic 1930s book called ‘Live Alone and Like It’. There is only one rule:
1 You must Live Alone and Like It. Both parts are essential.
Living Alone and Crying Into Your Pillow Every Night is a different and bigger club. I refreshed my memory of our source book when I got home. Some of it is still relevant as a guide to the LALI life – some is gloriously outdated. The Observer review says ‘the best way to read it is in bed, wearing pyjamas and eating rose creams’. Any other committed LALIs out there?
On Tuesday I went to a new open mike evening in Manchester, No Point in Not Being Friends. It was held in a tiny room full of happy people with great hair. Obviously, these were not poets: most of them are short story writers. Emma Lannie of the Time Travel Opportunists delivered an absorbing tale of love and bears, in characteristic ‘I’m nervous, but I’m going to knock you off your feet’ style. Come along to the next one – it’s free and friendly.
I went for a run this morning and once again Macclesfield surprised me with a new path that took me into curious and unknown folds of countryside, ten minutes from the boat. The weather forecast says Light Rain, Heavy Showers, Cloudy, Heavy Rain, Hurricane Gustav, Light Rain. We do look forward to those cloudy days. I am on intravenous St John’s Wort and hoping for a bright dry autumn. Ho ho hoping.