The Bell Jar: Jo Bell's blog

"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde

Whip crack away….

 

Roll up roll up....

Roll up roll up....

At last Fourpenny Circus has been able to finalise our summer tour dates – and there will be a little mini-tour in the autumn further afield. We had four solid days of rehearsals this week and at the end were gibbering wrecks, but my whip-cracking technique is coming on nicely and we have now run through the set with our costumes on. In retrospect, planning a summer tour for which I have to wear a thick velvet jacket, waistcoat and jodhpurs was not so clever.

 

I have started writing a series of deeply moving poems about potatoes, which is my mission for the National Trust at the moment. They need pieces about local produce, and in a separate commission have also asked me to write about Coleridge and his Somerset connections. But I took a break on Tuesday evening for a social with The Loop, where Tim Woodhouse performed his brilliantly funny songs with his eyes closed for the whole set.

On Saturday I practised drowning. Friend Lindsay had a hen do – which once involved a short drinking session at the local, but now means that we all pay to be fondled by strangers at a distant health club. The Nidd Hall Hotel in North Yorkshire did us proud, and we were having a perfectly nice time until I started drowning melodramatically in the pool. An ill-timed bout of cramp nearly did for me, but I am still here.  

Kev (L) and happy chattels
Kev (L) and happy chattels

Easter approaches. You may recall that that nice gentleman Jesus fed the five thousand with a few loaves and fishes. Our new landlord Kevlar demonstrated the same instinct on Palm Sunday by feeding the gathering vultures/ boaters with sausages from Aldi, using only a barbecue the size of a Nurofen tablet. We drank and bonded, and received a brief visit from tiny boater Mathilda.

Smallest boater in town

Smallest boater in town

As the night drew in and we pootled off replete towards our boats to develop our hangovers, we felt that we were in safe hands with Kev. Which was probably the point. Kevlar now owns all the boaters of Macclesfield and has feudal rights to shag us on our wedding night – but we don’t think his wife Mel will let him, and we can run faster than him anyway. Also none of us is a virgin, so all things considered we feel reasonably secure.

Consider, dear readers, the question of karma. A cheque arrives for £550 in payment for some work I did last year. This makes me happy, and I deposit it in the bank on the way to collect my car from the garage. The bill at the garage is £542.42. Hey ho. Did I do a very good deed in a past life, or a very bad one?

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This entry was posted on April 6, 2009 by in Uncategorized.
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