¦ dialling in from Sky Bunker ¦
22:05 GMT, Sunday 1st November 2009. Nip and a punch for the first day of the month; white rabbit. I was woken up at 7 o'clock this morning by the sound of a wheelie bin toppling over and the roof of the house doing a good impression of straining to leave and fly up into orbit. Very strong winds...and rain.
Jo was absent from the bed, not due back until later on in the day, which brought on an intense feeling of anticipation and delight.
In a bit of a daze I shuffled downstairs, brewed a mug of tea and brought it back to the bedroom. Sitting up in the brass-framed four poster, with big pillows fluffed up behind me, I sank into a comfort zone. My MP3 player was lying on the bedside table where I'd switched it off at some random moment of semi-sleep last night... I'd gone to bed playing the incredible "Fungi from Yuggoth" audio prose. Sitting there, supping tea in the gloom of the room, heavy curtains tight across the windows, I listened to the rest of it and got the Cthulhu vibe into my blood.
I padded out of the bedroom, along the hall and went into the room with a view and saw dense grey-green swirls of cloud and rain howling across the city. Wow! A pulse of excitement. I got dressed and ready. Dug out my padded grey overcoat with the diagonal-slash zip, and my blue kagool. Gore-Tex walking boots, old jeans, and a thick blue jumper with high collars.
I drove into town along deserted roads, listening to tracks from
Within the Realm of a Dying Sun by Dead Can Dance. A bruised sky pressing down heavily on the city, high winds lashing and whipping everything in sight, the rain painting the world in the same drab grey green colour, every surface glistening wet. It was a memorable drive. Once again I felt like I was in a 1920's Cthulhu story... driving my Rocket with its broad windshield, fabric fold-back roof and long bonnet filling the lower half of my field of vision, driving through horror-noir.
I parked up by the old hospital, near the harbour, got out, battered by wind and rain, and walked five miles before 9 A.M.
Part of the walk takes me past Hotwells, where I lived from end of 1991 to summer 1995, age 21 to 24. Hotwells was where I conceived the plot for
God Seed. There's an old sandstone wall, part of an ancient 19th century industrial complex that was bombed out and left in ruins after the Second World War. The whole complex has been levelled and replaced by apartment buildings and commercial units, except the sandstone wall is still there... just as I predicted in God Seed. I hope it remains because that sandstone wall represents a vital connection for my memories of early years, and for the God Seed novel. The murky weather was identical to my memory of it back in October 1993...
After the walk I headed straight to my Sunday morning Mecca: the
Boston Tea Party. A mug of strong coffee and a stool perched in a window bay overlooking Park Street. Working on chapter 13, which I started yesterday and I'm already close to finishing. I've hammered out a respectable 2,000 Saturday and Sunday.
Back home. Strip off damp clothes and run a hot bath to take the chill off my outer flanks. I hear the front door close and Jo hollers up, giggling and excited because she's hours early. I laugh, delighted and we meet on the staircase.
I love spending time apart because it lets me get on with my shit, but it also creates these bubble-moments of bliss when you miss each other, and get to reunite.
Get ready, she told me, we're going into town. One important item to inspect (will reveal more in a few weeks), and some bits and pieces to pick up.
We return three hours later with several items, Jo hugging a pair of knee-high black leather boots with 5-inch spike heels...bought just to please me. Hubba-hubba!
It's been a fantastic weekend. Very long. Very productive. Full of inspiration, imagination, with a tail end of romance, laughter and smiles.