New Arrival

I can contain myself no longer. I’ve done it, I’ve actually done it, deep breaths Lydia, deep breaths –

I’ve gone and bought a Mac Book Air !!!!!!!!!!!

Damo (BEAUTIFUL man that he is) has been helping me set up various applications and import all my old files over. Gone are the days where I’ll write in a conventional diary! Gone are the days where I’ll keep a conventional address book! I will now be using my envelope sized baby to manage my entire life!

Ooh-that actually sounded a bit scary…

Go! Mac Air, Go! We will be so happy together!

I didn’t tell you this before, but I actually spent my entire weekend, searching out my Macbook Air. I went all the way to Brum to get one (though to be honest, at the time I didn’t think it was going to be quite such a decadent purchase!)  In theory going to Brum should have made the purchase significantly cheaper than retail (I qualify for an educational discount cause of the teaching work I do, but it’s only available if you go to the main Apple shop) However by the time I’d worked myself up into enough of a frenzy to buy one,  it was 5pm. I’d got to the front of the queue, to proudly inform the nice man that yes, I’d like to purchase his finest Air – only to be informed that they’d sold out that morning-ARGHHH!

So. On Sunday (after helping beautiful Damo move boxes) I cycled through rain to catch the Leicester Apple Shop. Got there just as they were closing up – but – they told me (keys in door, exit blocked by mad dripping woman) that they did the discount there too!

Today, Monday, I was back, foolish cash card at the ready. All was going well – until they told me that unlike the Brum Shop they didn’t do the same big discount on warranty. ARgh!… D’you know what I did?

I BOUGHT IT ANYWAY!!!!

And I don’t even care!!

It even has it’s own beautiful little foam case!!

Go Mac Book Air! Go!!

March 1st

Why does everything have to happen on March the 1st?

Usually, NOTHING happens. Seriously, I can go long stretches with no discernible social engagement in the offing. But no, I can’t have reasonably spaced activities to occupy me. No, that would be too easy – that might make me take a look at my diary at the beginning of March and say – why, Lydia, look – in March you will be busy but not unreasonably so, no, in March you will be occupied to the optimum degree and all will be well. No.

On March the 1st:

I have agreed to do a poetry set for a benefit gig in Nottingham (yay!)

I have been asked along to watch a Pussy Cat Dolls gig in Leicester (one of the band members is interested in collaborating on a poetry cd)

I had been meaning to do the Zena Edwards Livebox @ The Y.

Grrr!!!

I’m thinking the benefit gig – in aid of women experiencing domestic violence – will def take priority. Currently, not sure what time it’s happening, will know more on Tuesday when I go visit the centre. If it’s in the day then I’ll be able to go to one of the other gigs too and it’ll just be a busy day. Will have to wait and see.

That aside, this weekend’s been an odd one. I’m off to watch something vapid now   – will tell you all about it later..

Bandi Barchi

Bandi, who we call Barchi
which is Hungarian for uncle,
has left a tub of swiss chocolate,
a small plate of twiglet circles,
an open atlas circa, 1956.

In the kitchen, Bandi Barchi,
has laid out breakfast – could be tea –
for each of us he’s told will come
at 1am to find his flat – several rooms
that live above

the Almentstrasse.
On the table is a pencil
someone’s used to draw a flag.
The wax lined union jack,
is placed upon a cushioned chair –

at either edge, are cocktailed slips,
the kind you’d use to stick in cheese-
one Hungarian, one Swiss. Bandi Barchi’s
set three plates, stacked like dolls
with cups for tea. He’s left:

a loaf of bread,
two jars of jam,
a small tub of chopped apple,
three sachets
of powered soup.

At 2am we see the note,
that Bandi Barchi’s left to read:
For three bears who’ve come to Bern,
he will call at 9am –
and we will meet.

Bandi Barchi

Bandi, who we call Barchi,
which is Hungarian for uncle,
has left a tub of swiss chocolate,
a small plate of twiglet circles,
an open atlas circa, 1956.

In the kitchen, Bandi Barchi,
has laid out breakfast – could be tea –
for each of us he’s told will come
at 1am to find his flat – several rooms
that live above the Almentstrasse.

On the table is a pencil –
double ended, blue and red,
that someone’s used to draw a flag.
The wax lined union jack,
is placed upon a cushioned chair.

At either edge, are cocktailed slips,
the kind you’d use to stick in cheese-
one Hungarian, one Swiss. Bandi Barchi’s
set three plates, stacked like dolls
with cups for tea. He’s left:

a loaf of bread,
two jars of jam,
a small tub of chopped apple,
three sachets of
some powered soup.

At 2am we see the note,
that Bandi Barchi’s left to read:
For three bears who’ve come to Bern,
he will call at 9am –
and we will meet.

Zurich Lake

On the pleasure boat,
I ask my uncle – whose dark eyes
are contemplating hills – the german word for lake.
He writes it for me, absent minded:

“Zurichsee –
the see as z.”

‘The Zurich-zee is tooled glass,
it’s printed cellophane.
The Zurich-zee is silver fish,
slashed brail, misted zinc.’

My uncle sees a gliding gull, small castle,
at Richterschill – a blue and yellow tram.

‘The Zurich-zee is silver milk,
sleek bands of graying hair.
The Zurich-zee is spilt yellow,
watercoloured pale.’

My uncle makes the sounds
for places as we pass:

“Wadensail.”
“Richterschill.”
“Staf.”

I chew the pen and mark them down.
Like the ink is made of lake.
My uncle, words.

Switzerland 3

In the morning
lie in bed and eat some squares
of swiss chocolate.

You can do that when abroad
and when in Bern,
you have no choice.

In the kitchen,
Uncle Michael scrapes toast –
like climbers chipping ice caps,

Through the window, curled roofs
jut against the
solid sky.

This morning, Uncle Bundi came
to find me typing in the bedroom.
“Lydia-

she is always writing?”.
Can almost see him
pushing back his winter coat,

bending down
to stroke the fur
on Ika’s back.

Switzerland 2

In the morning
lie in bed and eat some squares
of swiss chocolate.

You can do that when abroad
and when in Bern,
you have no choice.

Drink a cup
of sleek velvet.
Ski the alps, take a tram.

On Wednesday morning in the kitchen,
Uncle Michael scrapes toast –
like climbers chipping ice caps,

Through the window,
curled roofs,
jut against the solid sky.

This morning, Uncle Bundi came
to find me typing in the bedroom.
“Lydia –

she is always writing?”.
Can almost see him
pushing back the winter coat,

bending down
to stroke the fur
on Ika’s back.

Switzerland

On Wednesday morning, 8 o’clock
I lie in bed and eat some squares of
swiss chocolate.

You can do that when abroad
and when in Bern, the capital of Switzerland
you have no choice –

must also drink a cup of
dark velvet, ski in alps,
or fabricate.

In the kitchen, Uncle Michael scrapes toast,
like climbers chipping ice caps,
motorists on windshields.

Through the window
vanilla sunlight falls on net
shocked blue is worked by slate.

This morning, Uncle Bundi came
to find me typing in his
loaned bedroom. “Lydia-

she is always writing?”.
Can almost see him
pushing back

the folds of coat,
bending down to stroke the fur
of Ida’s neck.

Hugarians Abroad

This week, the Towsey family will be almost entirely abroad. With my parents still gadding about on their cruise (I assume they’re simply having too much fun to email rather than taken hostage somewhere) I’m set to leave Leicester myself, later today.

I’m going to Switzerland to visit Cousin Bundy. Is it just me but does Cousin Bundy sound like a character from out of the Archers? Nevermind. Cousin Bundy is one of my Hungarian relatives. Apparently I’m a quarter Hungarian, but Cousin Bundy will be the first from that side of the family that I’ve met.

So, why am I going to Switzerland? Well, Cousin B moved there during the 2nd World War (I think) – Swiss neutrality and all that – and then decided to stay. I can’t help wishing he’d opted for somewhere a little warmer and less expensive. Madrid, for instance, France, Italy, Christ – even the UK! But there we have it.

Mind you, I don’t want to sound churlish. I was counting up poetry workshops thinking ‘well this one plus that one will have nearly paid for the trip’ – then my cousin Sarah (half Hungarian but all London) told me that my Uncle Michael (her dad – god, this is getting ridiculous) is actually going to pay for the whole air fare – as a kind of belated xmas present! But he already got me the Klimt cups! I love my Uncle Michael. He’s like the best uncle ever. He’s also my only uncle, so it’s worked out quite well.

Anyway, the train to London leaves at 2pm and I’ve yet to pack. Sigh. If Damo were coming he’d have taken things in hand long before now. They’d have been no gadding about last night and a laying down of provisions through the early hours. As he is not going, the flat remains a mess and my bag unpacked. I’ve managed to have a bath, but not dress. Don’t worry, I’m wearing a towel.

So, I expect I should shove off really. Any good book suggestions, let me know. I’m going into town after packing (I’m a fast packer) to stock up on reading material…as if my arsonist’s dream of book burning paradise makes that at all necessary, but, you know, any excuse…;)

The Network Down the Hall

My laptop tells me that you’re trying to talk –
your network with it’s name like:

Oscilating, Oranges, an Octopus Oscardo.
Oscardo with your cargo full of nerve tails.

You always come at times like this.
Just when I’m about to send

electric notes – or make a post,
Oscardo with your looping limbs,

pale green snaking down the hall
tangled in a scribbled cord

of ether. Oscardo you’re a cuckoo.
You slip inside my Inter – Net

lift my signal like a threat,
replace it with your own.

I wonder where you usually live,
another flat that smells of this

has perhaps confused you – sightless eel
belly nudging over cables – never learns.

Pressed against another wall
I bet you roar like traffic. Here

you’re fainter than a drawing
left in rain. Always rub you out.