One might have imagined that, having had all this free time on my hands, the task of finishing Robinson Crusoe in time for the monthly book group meeting would have become somewhat easier. It’s a reasonable assumption but one that doesn’t take into consideration the fact that Mr Bloomer was only able to deliver my edition of Robinson Crusoe this morning, on account of it being ‘extremely rare’ and ‘difficult to source’. It was also ‘extremely expensive’ and that was ‘difficult to stomach’. I didn’t dare take it along with me to the meeting this evening for fear of it being doused in best bitter and essence of wasabi.

The rest of the group seem increasingly irritated with me at my failure to read the monthly book. On the pretence of not being able to squeeze anyone else around the main table, they made me sit by myself at a smaller table, shipwrecked on the rocks of guilt, marooned on my own personal island of shame. I’m surprised they didn’t call the police.

Saturday June 30th

In a Parallel Universe*

there is

parallel parking

for all of the cars

and

gymnasts drink

in parallel bars.

* this poem was sent by parallelogram

Dylan and I watched a film this afternoon called Donnie Darko, in which a ‘tangent universe’ erupts out of our own universe. It was all rather complicated but thankfully, Dylan explained to me various theories concerning alternative fictional universes. I nodded my head vigorously along to his words as if I understood him.

It made me think that in one of the alternative universes out there, there is an alternative world in which an alternative Brian Bilston is, at this very moment, enjoying an episode of unalloyed passion on an alternative sofa (one without the custard-cream crumbs) with the Liz from this world (although one who has been modified to return his text messages).

The Brian Bilston who lives in this world, and who is currently sitting on an unalternative sofa with an unalternative cat on his lap, writing in this, his miserable unalternative diary, utterly resents that alternative Brian Bilston, and hopes he puts his back out.

July

Sunday July 1st

Audley End

Yes, I remember Audley End –

The name intrigued me, I don’t know why,

As the train pulled up beside it.

It was the first day of July.

The doors beeped. An announcement

Was made. I stepped down from the train,

Unwittingly. The sign I saw

Said Audley End – only its name

Was then followed by other words,

Ones to strike a note of caution.

Five words to fill a heart with dread:

Alight here for Saffron Walden.

And, for that minute, a church bell tolled,

Close by, and round it, clangier,

Louder and louder, all the bells

Of Essex and East Anglia.