"She lives the poetry she cannot write" – Wilde
A quiet week, as weeks go. A short one too, thanks to a Bank Holiday at one end and a festival at the other. On Monday I headed into the Peak District with, as the song says, no particular place to go. It was a perfectly English day of well dressings, brass bands, food fairs, jumble sales and burgers on the village green. Something for everyone.
And my festive summer continues – I’m posting this blog by witchcraaaaft, as my corporeal self is currently at the Wychwood Festival. So I can’t yet report on my weekend, but I can tell you about the splendid magazine Popshot. The poetry is a mixed bag, but has some great contributions from Helen Mort and Hollie McNish; the illustrations are weird and wonderful. Website The Literary Platform, meanwhile, showcases digital and literary projects like my own Bugged (of which, I promise, no further mention this week).
Those of you unlucky enough to have heard me on Radio 4’s flagship news programme The World Tonight will be delighted to hear that I can’t figure out how to upload my World Cup poem as an MP3 file here. When I can, I will. It’s not my finest hour, dear reader – but I do like to make you smile. To which end, your writerly mission this week is – write about a celebration of some sort. A big festival, a family birthday party or wedding, an unusual or private celebration. But celebrate, because after all the Big Shiny Thing in the Sky has returned.
Tune in next week for news of the Wychwood Festival, my performance thereat… and whether we made it back.