I look out of my flat window and I see rubbish strewn up the alley way, there is washing hanging on the line further up. I must put the soup boiling soon.
The sun is beginning to set now. The seagulls perch on the chimneys, the gold reflecting off their stark white breasts. They mutter to each other.
The sky is purple almost.
Today I walked to see the sea. I met a man there. He was probably about 70 something.
He knew everything about this county, he could talk on and on about the waterways which I pretended, with keen nodding eyes, that I understood exactly what he was on about. To be polite, you know.
He made me smile. He wished me well and I, he.
I walked through the park on my way back here.
I sat and read a play of Harold Pinter's. Betrayal it was. It was all right. He has a way of setting his dialogue, very quick it is. Lots beneath, through the characters.
I like the way he does it.
It just cries out for actor's voices to take them, take the lines and sing them out.
Easy in the mouth.
Easy in the air.
Funny isn't it?
How private we all are.
And does one ever really know what another's thoughts are?