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Stayed the night at Dave's place, watching the grim but well-acted Animal Kingdom. I saw this when I stepped out of the house the next morning. His landlord had been tidying the garden I presume and had left some of the bits and pieces in this old bath, identical to one we got rid of to make room for a disabled shower for mum. But something about it spoke to me, clearly as only objects can when they stand out as being both themselves and something entirely different, a work of accidental art, something there isn't a name for. Its apparent solidity and immutability reminds me of a poem by Josef Brodsky, called Nature Morte. Here's a few lines from it:

Summing their angles up
as a surprise to us,
things drop away from man's
world –– a world made with words.

Things do not move, or stand.
That's our delirium.
Each thing's a space, beyond
which there can be no thing.

A thing can be battered, burned,
gutted, and broken up.
Thrown out. And yet the thing
never will yell, "Oh, fuck!"

Later a walk with Barry and Lola on Sandymount Strand. It was a pleasure to see Barry again, even if briefly. He is visiting a relative of his who has reached the age of 101, apparently clear-minded and articulate. My mother was too, up till the last few weeks of her almost 94 years.

Complete Brodsky poem here if you're interested.