Smiling in Slow Motion

MAY

MAY Saturday 11 For days now I have tried to start this diary, but the clatter of my existence has interrupted; the first mark on the page eludes me, it is easy to put off. HB drove to Dungeness, it grew so cold we muffled up to visit the swans' nest, at the Long Pits, with its seven small cygnets. A dead fox decomposing in the shallows, a swaying mass of green algae surrounded by flotillas of voracious black tadpoles, devouring it to the bone. HB throws a stone in the water, sending ripples through this predatory army. 'Father Nature,' he says, 'the destroyer.' The cold weather with its biting easterly has pinched me to the old stove that roars, white-hot, through the evening. A cruel sore throat, coughs and a deep depression have left me darting hither and thither, mop and duster in hand, indecisive paintbrush dipped in Venetian red, even my new overalls, the colour of faded brick, and my suntan hardly cheer me. I watched TV out of the corner of an eye and sank deep in the ruined sofa with Pepys's Diaries - which I crept through with little enthusiasm, at the pace of a snail. Sunday 12 Today dawned blissful, not a breath of wind, warm and the sun out, a great silence. Thenuclear power station - which normally hums and splutters has not been brought on-line. Heat shimmers off the shingle, weeks of soaking rain have left the Ness a hopeful green. Alan Beck rang, we discussed a riotous book: Fags, 'Fatcher, and Fucking, a scurrilous desktop-published venture; then silence again. These wild flowers are in bloom in the garden: shining cranesbill, spring vetch, whitlow grass, sea campion and broom. Peter Fillingham here with his friend Stephen - who works the bronze foundry in Canterbury; we foraged and beachcombed for wood and metal for the forthcoming show at the Design Museum. 3 SMILING IN SLOW MOTION Early to bed, restless night, tossed about with waking dreams of hungry boys. Monday 13 Students from the Royal College of Art film department emerged from the mist at eight this morning, they are filming next door. Any strangers arriving upset me, more cars parked at the side of the road in my view, destroying my illusion of isolation. People wandering across the landscape are unaware of the poppy and sea kale seedlings. Could it be possible for people to arrive and improve the view? All these projects are gathering to completion: my book Modern Nature, Edward II and the garden exhibition at the Design Museum. At eight last night the telephone rang and I was asked if I would like to take Concord to Washington at one today for the premiere of The Garden. Even I can't run that fast, so I'm sitting here watching the garden grow, as the mist blows in, tumbling in chalk-white veils, blotting out the power station across the Ness. Alan Beck visited. We drove to Hastings for fish and chips, calling at Rye Harbour and crossing to Pett Level, which he called the Costa Canasta. We stopped and walked across fields, along a path to the sea, through banks of fern-like hemlock. It took some persuading to stop Alan's friend Billy from tasting it - Alan and I had a friend who made a hemlock salad one fatal summer and succumbed like Ophelia in a stream. Alan said he had read somewhere that it didn't take you too gently. Tuesday 14 Liam [Daniel] and Philip [McDonald] are here taking photos. The sun is out, the seagulls are fighting over a string of mouldy sausages I threw out. Philip complained that for weeks after the opening of The Garden people came up to him and said boldly: 'You're one of the naked rent boys in that film.' My American friend Lynn Hanke arrived at twelve with a picnic lunch of asparagus from the farm shop on the Marsh. We made a raid on the Madrona nursery for lavender to restore the circle in front of the house. After we had planted it we drove via Lympne along Stone Street to Canterbury to see the cathedral - I haven't liked Canterbury since Nik Pevsner and his wife quarrelled violently about the dates of its architectural details. We bumped the car very carefully into a parking space and walked 4 MAY down the ugly heritised...