I went to the hospital this morning to have my head moulded. You go in a little room with a hard couch in the middle of it, lie down, and a man puts a warm elastic mesh over your face that cools and hardens to the exact shape of ones features. Then the mould is used as a way of positioning ones head during radiotherapy. It looks quite interesting as an object and I think I might use it afterwards as a lampshade.
This week I am writing a short story for a festival of stories, based, or inspired by Raymond Carver and Chekhov. It’s a bit daunting to have the great masters looking over ones shoulder, but I don’t want to do a pastiche of their work either. In the end I am not sure if my story is anything like theirs, in fact I am sure it isn’t. Also the film I have been doing with the BBC is nearly finished. I did a reading with the musician Tim Dalling on Tuesday to a dummy audience who pretended it was night time. They were mainly media students from Ashington College, and they hadn’t been to a poetry reading before. I felt quite worried about them! Imagine being faced with two middle aged people who told you their inner thoughts! They were quiet, but polite. The film is being broadcast on 11th October. I feel worried about my mad video diaries, as I can’t remember what I said, and I certainly didn’t wash my face or brush my hair. Vanity never completely leaves us does it?
It’s very bright and buzzy in the university. My corridor is full of writers and there’s a smell of restless artists in the air! I have a sore throat and I feel as if I have swallowed a cold golf ball. Tomorrow I have a head scan, next week radiotherapy. Help!