The Bell Jar: Jo Bell's blog

"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde

And all I ask is a tall sheep….

Goodness me.

Goodness me.

I have entered the world of agricultural research, and it is a startling place. The breed above is said to have a ‘cross expression’ and I think I know why. I can now tell my Siver-Pencilled Wyandotte from my Lonk (just as well, since one is a chicken and the other a sheep). As you can guess, my National Trust ‘Food Glorious Food’ poems have moved on from vegetables to the meat course, and I have been reading some very unusual books.

So much to learn

So much to learn

I worked from home, making notes and cakes with equal passion, and making  just the odd foray abroad – including one to Ellesmere Port for a rehearsal of Fourpenny Circus, and one to Hugglescote, Leicestershire (no, really) with artist Charles Monkhouse who I hope to work with soon. There was a delicious interruption from friend Shelley, who stopped over on Thursday. It’s been the usual mix – NPD planning; a workshop in Macclesfield with a splendid laughter-prone group; and publicising Fourpenny Circus.

I keep digging up new work – watch this space for news of a food-and-words event in Macclesfield, workshops at Derby Museums and – wait for it – writing sessions in the pubs of Bollington and Sutton. I must be doing something right when someone offers me money to write poems in a canalside pub.

On Friday my friend and administrative genius Lindsay got married. She has the skin of a three year old girl and the eyes of a nervous doe, so it’s a wonder she has stayed single to the ripe age of 24. Congratulations Mrs Pilkington (except on the name, obviously). Here we all are, looking at something else as Lindsay blooms.

Look over there....

Look over there....

I’m sure we used to have a thing called Spring but now, it seems, we go straight from winter (boater’s weather scale 7: small plant pots are whisked from boat roofs and found in the canal next day) to summer (weather scale 15: boaters get drunk in the car park at lunchtime and come home badly burned). Once again we all sat outside on Sunday, eating sausages and drinking tea/ wine/ lager/ red diesel. I went home red as a lobster, a sure candidate for skin cancer – but with an absolutely enormous crew secured for my inaugural weekend away, on the coming Bank Holiday. Whoopee!

Saucy: BBQ boater Loz

Saucy: BBQ boater Loz

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This entry was posted on April 20, 2009 by in Uncategorized.
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