"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde
I start with a chocolatey reflection on this week’s events. Let us speak no more of it until the end of this blog. Meanwhile, I had a weekend off, haring up the M1 to my old haunts in Newcastle, and back again via Hadrian’s Wall and the Lakes.
There may come a time in my life when I feel the need to visit a B&B dedicated to swingers, but it hasn’t come yet. So
when we innocently wandered into such an establishment, we quickly legged it for more wholesome surroundings. At Vindolanda we found some archaeologists, scraping a living in my old profession. The moment of nostalgia passed with the first loaded wheelbarrow. I have served my time on Roman forts.
I’ve been in Derby this week to continue my residency at the uber-hospital there, and also back at Action Transport Theatre for another continuing project – a read-through of Aching for Dick (now seeking a more respectable title) with some of the young actors who will perform it at the Chester Literature Festival in October. They work so hard, without complaint, and their patience and maturity amazes me every time I work with them.
This is where my 20-minute play really starts to come alive and become a properly collaborative art form; something far more than my script could achieve on its own. Speaking of which, I’ve been reading the blog of Sarah Hymas (‘poet, sailor and anti-hoovering campaigner’) which is much better than this one. Go and have a look – but promise you’ll come back.
Still here? Good – here’s a reward. Cast your eyes upon this beautiful object. This is my Companion Stone, one of twelve which were made under the direction of artist Charles Monkhouse. Mine, designed by Kate Genever, carries a tiny poem by me based on sheepdog commands. From late July it will stand inside the gates of the Longshaw estate in the Peak District, where they hold working dog trials each year. From late May, however, you can see it and its eleven companions at the Moorlands Centre in Edale.
Now. Let us contemplate that election result, such as it is. Economic and social hardship always breeds cultural richness: so let us look on the bright side. The coming months will be very rich times indeed. This week, for obvious reasons, your writing exercise is to write about mistakes. Let’s hear about those innocent or serious mistakes – made by you, made by the electorate, made by the captain of the Titanic. For example. Post them on Comments so that we can share them. In the meantime – there is always beer.