"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde
Do you know how pleasant it is to do nothing? Of course you do – it’s me that keeps forgetting. I have this pathological longing to fill every moment with useful activity; but sometimes it’s just as useful to sit around with your loved ones doing bugger all. This revelation came to me yesterday, when dear chums the Foxes came for Sunday lunch. The larger Foxes were so impressed with the new bed that they curled up on it and went all floppy. The cubs (below) made blueberry muffins and blew bubbles out of the side hatch. We drank tea, we read papers, we ignored one another in the way that real friends can. Deep rainy-day joy.
What was I switching off from? A working week in Swindon, London and Derby. In Swindon I was poet-in-residence for a National Trust conference, writing a poem based on input from 400 delegates. In London I met with the PR maestros at Colman Getty to discuss our strategy for National Poetry Day, and visited the Wellcome Institute (I might as well just move in) to see their new exhibition Atoms to Patterns. In Derby Hannah and I visited the Derby Royal Infirmary, whose staff will soon be moving to a new superhospital – we’re doing some work to help them enjoy their new environment.
At the back of my mind is Fourpenny Circus, the sequel to our poetry roadshow Bunch of Fives. On Saturday I took instruction from my friend Dave Jellybean on the arts of juggling, plate spinning and stilt walking. I made some wobbly progress… might just be bareback riding before next spring!