In the Poetry Cafe
Train cancelled, and a slower journey in. Standing outside the tube entrance at Victoria station, looking about me at everyone standing patiently looking at their phones. I looked at the sky, because you could see a bit of it. Eventually allowed to shuffle sheep-like down to the platform. Reading We have always lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson, which I didn't manage to quite finish. I had read the first chapter to Lorraine a few times, but it was one of those that made her fall asleep. Quite like its American Gothic ways. From work, which is disorganised and it seems I am going to have to do loads of long hours soon, which I feel wouldn't be necessary if they were a little more organised. Then a slightly trying journey to Betterton Street, and the haven of the Poetry Cafe. Mum was already there, and all the poets, and Sarah Barnsley. Sat with Mum till it was time to get organised. Sarah Barnsley was hosting the evening, and in good spirits. She and Abigail Parry ar...