Bank Holiday Monday evening in Derry. 30/8/04

from moville
we work our way back
along the stunning coast
talk of families

she's thirteen sisters
and quite normal for those times
mother had no choice

she asks if i think
the pace is slower (not noticed)
it might be old myth

or truth outlived days
it's been a beautiful day
i've euros in change

(they'll go on guinness in the north sometime)

We stop off twice. The first time at a friend's who's having family tussles. The second instance at my female host's sister. We talk alot about television and the celebrity who says he's psychic. We went on to tarot, the cards and dogs that made mucky footprints on the window.

The youngest daughter of the family was a question asker

who are you? my name's Dave.
what are you doing here? I'm travelling around writing poetry, so I need to chat with people and visit lots of places.
Why do you write poetry? Cor - that's a stinker (everyone agrees) I like the sound of words, I like being playful with words and I like poetry.

At this point, she fell backwards because an adult moved her chair by mistake and she laughed and she laughed and she laughed. It also saved me from anymore questions (like 'does your mother like spaghetti?)

We move away and back in Derry (or since then I've found out it's also called stroke Derry) the couple pop in briefly.

Not much else to say about that day. Been sort of restful. The at night I went with the woman with the family tussles. We spend the evening tryin to work out whhat each other was saying above the droning over-amplified Irish music. I need to take a rest from writing and will scan my notebooks for gleanings I've missed in this blog. I'm sure there are some things...