back and fro with the watering can, a cat called flannel . . . across my eyeline summer eves drown in gee and tees . . . when big and friendly bob arrives with his apologies and his phobias . . . putting champagne on ice.

building for the masses each day oblivious of the grand design i settle into petty disagreements with family members who are well accustomed to my cynicism, my ego, my arrogance. yet, when my lover appears i can shake it more often than not . . . more often than not i can shake it.

paracetamol consumption up by 4% . . . must be getting exercise because my nails are growing faster . . . sexual exploits are fun but exhausting . . . i confuse sunny weather with feeling better . . . searching consistently for ethical understanding in order to abuse moral loop-holes no doubt, but i'm sure that's a question.

i gave my brazilian football shirt to charity minutes before kick-off and seconds after the gamble. the samba heat broke in the night as i lost interest in that and wrapped myself in another yellow: in the tropical storm we made love as the trees danced ferociously around us.

in heat like this the grand tourny kicked in. we drowned in our dehydrations and we moulded our sticky skins: the red and white patriots.

and so tonight after the bloodshed of yesterday we acted more serene . . . and crafted sounds that drifted lazily; threatening to disperse crazily into the sort of staccato rhythms that we tend to favour in the heated moment. yet our mutual desperation subsided we played for the kings and thus wept together for the recorder that failed to record.

the musical boat set sail again this weekend. a frenzied and short-lived attack. our outboard motor jammed we lowered the sails and thrashed about in an effort to create our own wind.