"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde
National Poetry Day and Derby Hospitals kept me at my desk for most of the week, and not in a way that makes very interesting reading. But on Thursday, the circus came to town! Of the Fourpenny Circus ‘troupe’ only Andrew Rudd and I were available, so with Andrew’s wife Wendy we went in to the big top to remind ourselves how a proper circus looks, sounds and smells. We oohed and aahed at the tumblers and sequinned ladies with the best of them and got lots of ideas for Fourpenny Circus, which no doubt director Kevin will throw out immediately.
Liverpool loves its poetry as much as it ever did – on Friday I was at the brilliant Heartbeats Café, reading with Tamsin Kendrick and sharing the stage with Sex Education and the Ex Men. Didn’t learn much about sex but heard a mind-boggling mix of poetry and music. Let’s hope we see some of the same faces for our Lorra Lorra Laureates event on Wednesday at the Fly in the Loaf pub, and again at the National Poetry Day main event at the Bluecoat on October 9th.
On Saturday I drove from the dizzy drizzly heights of Macclesfield across the lumpy bits of the Midlands, right down into the long flatlands of Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire. The occasion was a glorious, friendly, well-fed meeting of friends whose loose connection is that they all work or worked for the National Trust at Clumber Park. My fabulous god-daughter Molly was there. A year of neglect by her feckless godmother has had no impact at all, and she is speaking in whole sentences – which is more than we were doing after a domestic banquet and a large quantity of alcohol.