The Mayor's do and other bashes

Alison Clink, founder of the Frome Festival Short Story Competition, was at Hunting Raven Books on Thursday evening for the launch of her new book The Man Who Didn't Go To Newcastle, a personal memoir based on her journals at the time of her brother's death seven years ago while also drawing on a lifetime's memories of their close relationship. In our interview we talked about aspects of the writing, and I asked too if she found the process healing. No, was the answer, but it helps you to cope. And to any writer with difficult experiences Alison advises: 'you have to expose yourself ~ no matter how painful it is, just do it, even if you're crying.'  Don't let the sombre aspect deter you, there's humour too in this ultimately life-affirming story.

It's been a musical weekend for Independents for Frome folk, with a flashmob singing Welcome Home to the Friday night commuters as they arrived at the station, followed by the Mayor's Charity Bash at the Silk Mill.

Frome Street Bandits start the party and No-Shit Simone and the Flunch Nonchalent supporting Captain Cactus and the Screaming Harlots get everyone dancing quicker than you can say both band names, probably as we're all disinhibited by looking fairly bonkers in our charity shop outfits ~ prizes awarded to the most bizarre. Mayor Peter Macfadyen was present in multiples, not only in his current pompom chain but in a series of portraits around the walls, showing the inventive diversity of the institutions of the town in devising mayoral chains for every occasion.



Ending the week, the Pete Gage Quartet were rocking in the Cornerhouse and Frome Jazz Club celebrated its grand reopening at the Grain Bar with a fantastic set from the John Law Trio (plus sax)  ~ his version of My one and only love was breath-taking.




This blog began life as a writer's journey and, although extolling the delights of Frome increasingly and effervescently, I do like to maintain a link with matters literary and linguistic, so I'm ending with a few words: Epexegesis is one I discovered last week. It means extended explanation, and one who is epexegetical is prone to garrulous converse... And take comfort next time you forget a word and randomly invent a substitute, that you are ~ as Shakespeare did and children still do ~  creating a neologism.  For those fascinated by the archaic, here's a list of fifty forgotten words which we really could use in these days of crambo-clank and eedle-doddles.