It's been a great week for Autumn walks, in Bath and Stourhead, after a monsoon start. Hard rain fell throughout my Sherbourne House poetry workshop day but failed to deter some wonderful words from the participants: ‘histories motivations, distractions and beliefs’, in the words of the (invisible) installation piece ‘Bringing down the Gods’ in Stourhead. Peter and I walked there on Wednesday, relishing the colours of the trees, not just the leafy auburns and crimsons, but the exquisite greys - lilac, aqua, mole - of the ribbed tree trunks. We nibbled sweet chestnuts and hawthorn berries - both considerably nicer than the pub lunch - and surveyed Elysium from the thollos, wondering which heights in Nepal Hazel is trekking now.
Friday night I was a guest poet at WHAT A PERFORMANCE at St James Wine Vaults in Bath. Billed as 'verbal antics and music', performances ranged from passionate eco-politics to melodic Joni Mitchell, with a great anti-seagull rant on the open mic.
Saturday's writerly event was the launch of Kevan Manwaring's novel 'Windsmith', the second in his bardic odyssey, in the Raven upstairs bar with the celebratory mood heightened by a smattering of rugby supporters. And then a great halloween party which I'm excusing into this posting as having a tenuous connection to the world of writing via Dracula and Frankenstein and because it was brilliantly theatrical, right down to the severed hand in the punch. Thanks Howard & Claire!