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That CK Williams has died. More than two weeks ago! One of my heroes. This is the first thing I have missed missing and not knowing about instantly since leaving Twitter and FB. Does it make me any sadder? I am already sad. My sadness and reaction to his death could not be less relevant to the story.

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That Céline Dione has had more than 54 million hits on the video channel which plays My Heart Will Go On. I have still not seen Titanic.

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That you can buy a house in Falmouth for £250,000-500,000.

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That Clive James has leukaemia. Clive James! I thought he was dead. Didn’t I read that on Twitter? One of those hoax things probably. He has a column in the Guardian Weekend. All about Not Dying. I have always loved his prose. I really love Clive James’s prose.

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That there is a new (unauthorised) biography  of Ted Hughes in the world. I know this because I have been sent it in the post by the publisher. It is huge and looks like homework. I opened it at page 1 and can report that it reads like a thriller, not homework at all. Then I thought: even if I finish it I will never know what really happened. None of us will.  I have a note from him somewhere…

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That two of my friends were up for poetry prizes, and that neither of them won. There is nothing like a poetry prize to make me feel on the far edge of disappearing forever. (Maybe I already have.) I realised I was kind of relieved, because I did not want to write to one and say well done and not the other. They are the best sort, what Van Morrison calls ‘real soul people’. I know this because they show up and take time to communicate with me outside of social media, like we used to.

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That nothing can substitute for carrying a notebook everywhere you go.

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That I secretly want Wales to beat South Africa and Australia to win the whole thing.

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That I still have no idea how to use my iPad.

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That when I logged off Facebook for the final time I noticed that I had 22 notifications and one message responding to my post about no longer being on Facebook. I actually laughed. Did they not read it? How can I see your message or your response if I am not there? Instead I am here. All week, as the comedians say.

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That, judging by the reaction to my decision to leave FB (via comments on this blog and in private communication), I may be on to something. If we all followed through and left, think of all the novels we would write and bridges we could build and new ideas we would have.

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That I woke up one day and realised that Labour is a busted flush. I even wrote to tell them. I have torn up my fledgling membership card. That I feel guilty and relieved in equal measure. But mostly relieved.

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That I still miss [………]

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That a friend came up to me at a poetry reading and thanked me for writing about painful things. I said thank you and that it was not like I had a choice.

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That I missed the reading of a friend because I did not know about it. That I feel bad about this. That I feel bad.

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That I am still not good at asking for help