"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde
Steve Rooney won hands down – the finest and funniest performance poet we have. My scalp was hurting from laughing so hard.
Whilst in the SW I made swift visits to loved-up friend Shelley in Bristol, and to dauntless chapel chick Kirsty who has installed a new lodger, Horace.
We stuck a toe over the Welsh border and spent a morning in Chepstow, where they have very sensibly furnished the streets with poetry…..
The end of January beckons like the finger of doom for the self-employed. After three years of failing to file a tax return, I finally realised that the LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU approach to personal finance is not sustainable. Something has to be done. Never have my best mates been more magnificent! Hannah and Heather are tired and busy and have better things to do in their lives. But confronted with a misty-eyed, numerically incompetent poet and a car full (no, really) of unsorted bank statements, receipts and old love letters, they took control. Realising that I would be no help at all, they sat me down weeping into a cup of tea, installed a Patient Husband at a computer screen, and proceeded in a blur of efficiency to Sort Me Out. This, readers, is friendship. No-one who has not seen my ‘filing system’ can understand how great a favour this was. Their names shall last forever more, etc.
Don’t tell my brain, but writing for fifteen minutes a day is working brilliantly. It tricks my idle mind into the habit of writing. Short spurts of writing achieve a good deal, and often craftily extend into a longer session. It’s still a bit erratic in output – I sat down to write about the circus and came up with a piece about brain surgery – but this week I sent off my first submission in months, to Magma. They may not accept it, but at least I sent the damn thing. Rejoice!
I acquired a book of funny names this week and have decided after much giggling that I should NOT change my name to Hepzibah Lillycrap, Peculiar Buttery or Large Bee. After considerable thought I have settled on a more dignified moniker – so I sign off, dear reader, yours truly, Philadelphia Bunnyface.