Hardly At All Like Dan Blocker

The Devils Day 6/6/6. If I was a mathematician I could probably tell you how often that number occurs in the calendar, when the last occurrence was and how long before the next. But I am not a mathematician; I am a poet, so you will just have to be impressed by the fact that I noticed the date at all! Of all days it was the perfect day to get a call from my old friend Hoss (the old Devil). It must be at least 3 or four years since I heard from him last. We worked together years ago and used to take long liquid lunches on a regular basis, but we work hard and well! We chatted for a short time, he updated me on his life with Frosty and his work situation and we made a tentative arrangement to meet next week. Hoss said he will try and make it to the poetry gig on Thursday.

I have to tell about how Hoss got the name ‘Hoss’. He is a big geezer and at the time sported a slightly chubby round face which made him look hardly at all like Hoss from Bonanza. Hardly at all but enough to get the tag, has which stayed with him over the years. Last time I saw him he had just started working again after taking a year or two off to take photographs and concentrate on his water colours. I never got to see any of this work but he assures me he did a lot of it.

Yesterday I was back at work after my holiday. Eleven days went by without me hardly noticing. I managed to do practically nothing; something I am almost proud of. I did have some plans of moving the boat into the centre of Oxford for a few days, but the week started out with shite weather so I gave it a miss. By the friday the sun had cranked up and I spent Saturday sitting with Jamie in the shade of a Californian Fern tree in the square at Gloucester Green, watching the world go by. Well, to be honest, mostly we were watching the women go by but it was hard not too, there seemed to be so many! After about six hours of that we got bored and headed home, only to return later with Ratty drinking in the Eagle and Child. C S Lewis and J R Token may well have drunk there and it may well have been a good pub, but now it’s two bob! A few students, a few lost tourists, no atmosphere, and us three. Not a Saturday night to remember.

Sunday afternoon I was in the Eight Bells. Tricky was away up north, but all the rest of the crew were there. We sat out in the garden taking in the sun until a short burst of rain sent scurrying back into the bar. I did a bit of poetry, drank some cider, talked for a while and went home. M gave me a knock at about nine; it was still light and fairly mild, could this be summer? M said she had been for a trip down the river with her friend who is in a bad way with breast cancer. The friend has been having chemo and everything so it was amazing that she managed to make the cruise. We drank a bottle of cold white Australian wine that Ozzy John had left in my fridge a week or so ago. I really could have done without more booze as it was my first day back at work in the morning, but I have the will power of a gnat when it comes to any form of hedonistic pleasures. I went straight to bed once M had split and soon I was pushing out zeds over the cut, sleeping deeply.