Last Calm Weekend

Tomorrow the house will be bulging at the seams as the crew will have all returned from the latest filming trip. Yesterday, however I was quite alone in the house when a child came to visit, he’d last been here about a year ago when he was four years old. Not sure if he remembered the house he stood in my kitchen with a puzzled look on his face then he thrust his finger in the air with inspiration, he did know this place, he turned to me and said

Didn’t you used to keep men here?


I recently had a message from a friend asking me if I was off gallivanting - such a lovely word, one that might describe an interesting way of moving; something involving high stepping, prancing and the tossing of one’s plumed head, I think gallivanting is a more energetic form of catering



After writing about my recent encounter with Bearpit Man it dawned on me that the reason that I could now understand his words was because he seems to have overcome a speech impediment, an aspect of him that I hadn’t properly registered before,   like when someone you know shaves off a moustache and you can’t work out what’s wrong with their face.

I saw Bearpit man again this morning pushing a big wire shopping trolley that he had ingeniously modified for his catering forays, he showed me around the trolley’s compartments stuffed with thermoses and stacks of cups that he had pre-dosed with coffee powder and sugar

Queasy, Cheesy, Japanesey

That man is still on the roof. I called up to him from the street to see how he’s getting on. He disappeared then reappeared inside the house so he could yell down at me from the closer quarters of a window. I now know that his name is Cheesy. I propose that his activity is more of a squat than a protest, Cheesy insists that he is protesting about 50 years of injustice. I say that it's difficult to tell that from the pavement and maybe he should make a banner or something.

I go on to my own house, walk upstairs and look out of the window. He is hoisting a surfboard up on a pole.



Currently feeling a bit queasy due to sampling of dessert recipe trials involving cream and meringue for a cookery demonstration that I’ll be performing at in a couple of days.




This morning I saw an enormous and instantly recognisable shape walking along the street towards me, for the last 10 years this man and I have stopped, grinned and exchanged noises before moving on, his impenetrable West Indian accent means that I have never understood the actual words of what he says, I think of our exchanges as being like a mini episode of the Clangers, so I was quite surprised today when I discerned actual words

Him: Hey how you doin’ ?

Me: I'm Good – where are you off to?

Him: I’m goin’ down the bearpit* to feed the homeless people

Me: What are you going to feed them?

Him: Food

* I don't know what the bearpit is either