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OK, where did the summer go? Last time I sat down to write a blog, August still stretched out before me with the promise of golden days and summer heat. Now, there’s mist in the mornings and I’m putting on the lights not long after I’ve had my tea.
Much has happened in the meantime, though. The ‘poets, prattlers, and pandemonialists’ venture to Edinburgh was a joy, outstripping our wildest dreams (well, probably not our wildest) of how things would go. We had a blast, we saw some great shows – spoken word, documentary talks, and theatre pieces – and we pulled enough of an audience each evening to cover our costs and put money in our pockets for a beer. Given that the average audience for a Free Fringe show is four people, that’s quite an achievement.
From there, I trundled up to Orkney in the camper van – yes, that’s the van with the newly-fettled brakes and steering – for a few days kicking back, watching seabirds and sunsets, and fitting in a pay-as-you-feel poetry gig in Kirkwall. I love the inclusiveness of these gigs: if you’re skint, you’re still welcome; if you’re curious about poetry, there’s no price-tag to deter you; if you love poetry, we’ll see you there. There’s an honesty about it. And of course, there’s the element of uncertainty, that edge, wondering just how much money you’ll find in the hat at the end of the night. And the surprise when you find out.
Thereafter, southwards via a string of festivals to another pay-as-you-feel gig in Falmouth (if you’re visiting, I recommend you check out the Chintz bar, it’s a splendid one-off of a place) and a chance to play in the surf before the summer slipped away. My annual ritual to mark the passing of the seasons. And now I’m home. I’ve a new book at the printers – I’ll be posting a blog about that, and the Wolverhampton book launch, very soon – and months of mists and mellow fruitfulness to come. Bring it on.
P.S. If, like me, you don’t do deferred gratification, the good news is that the book’s on sale already. You can click and buy it here.