Back on my own

And so farewell Friends of the Dragon. The play disappeared, like Communism, under the weight of its internal contradictions. It was too complicated corralling a group of people in the same direction, especially in the summer with holidays and exams looming, and, to be honest, we all drank too much. Anyway, maybe I have moved on as a writer. My next play will be much better.

Saturday and I'm at home, in my spare room/study which is shortly to be occupied by my nephew Jake, and Louise. So a load of books and guitars and amps have to go back into my bedroom. But it's a good thing having Jake and Louise around.

When you meet someone and think you can be friends you, that is I, I suppose, start to meld your ideas to fit theirs. But then when they reject your friendship you are back on your lonely, solitary path again. Maybe that person had different values to you and thought that you were a ‘bad’ person. Are you a ‘bad’ person? What does that mean anyway. It can only be assessed in terms of your interaction with other people. Nobody thinks that they are bad. How does one assess such things?

That's where I am today – and merging the contents of one room – a room full of stories and poems, the narratives of my life – into another one.