Another tale to tell
Up to the smoke again. Saw a complete arch of a rainbow forming a magical gateway into London as the train approached from the south. I took this as a lucky omen.
Joined the interminable meeting at 8:30. Most odd way to spend a week, as a fly on the wall with a vague remit, but having to take copious notes. By agreement, I slipped off early and headed for Victoria. By chance the travel Gods were at their most benign (apart from leaving my old anorak on the train) and I got home, met Lorraine, changed and we jumped into a taxi to the Cameron Gallery in Hove.
Here met Robin and Nick. A lovely venue. When I arrived at the venue, I opened my specs case to find it empty necessitating the borrowing of Nick's glasses which happily were okay. The couple who owned it were pleasant and helpful - and the art there was great too. We set up, and people drifted in, enjoyed twice as much bubbly as the Lewes crowd. Catherine Pope came, Anton, Rosie, and John coming to his first poetry reading. Feeling slightly less twitchy than last week, I was able to enjoy the other readings. Catherine Smith's read different poems this week, and I came away with a completely different impression of her work, which is full of a compelling darkness which went right over my head the last time. While John McCollough, who I met for the first time was a lovely man and fine poet. The evening only marred for me by making a hash of Robin's introduction. I borrowed Nick's glasses for my reading, but then as I introduced Robin, wasn't able to read my own notes.
My biggest surprise of the evening was Anton, attending his first poetry event, and finding to everyone's surprise that he had actually enjoyed himself. Had a cheeky couple of drinks in the pub afterwards with Lorraine, Rosie and Anton and also chatted to John, and a few other folks who had been at the reading.
Into a taxi, and dropped Anton off before home. A long and tiring day - but another good night.
Below Robin, and me.
Joined the interminable meeting at 8:30. Most odd way to spend a week, as a fly on the wall with a vague remit, but having to take copious notes. By agreement, I slipped off early and headed for Victoria. By chance the travel Gods were at their most benign (apart from leaving my old anorak on the train) and I got home, met Lorraine, changed and we jumped into a taxi to the Cameron Gallery in Hove.
Here met Robin and Nick. A lovely venue. When I arrived at the venue, I opened my specs case to find it empty necessitating the borrowing of Nick's glasses which happily were okay. The couple who owned it were pleasant and helpful - and the art there was great too. We set up, and people drifted in, enjoyed twice as much bubbly as the Lewes crowd. Catherine Pope came, Anton, Rosie, and John coming to his first poetry reading. Feeling slightly less twitchy than last week, I was able to enjoy the other readings. Catherine Smith's read different poems this week, and I came away with a completely different impression of her work, which is full of a compelling darkness which went right over my head the last time. While John McCollough, who I met for the first time was a lovely man and fine poet. The evening only marred for me by making a hash of Robin's introduction. I borrowed Nick's glasses for my reading, but then as I introduced Robin, wasn't able to read my own notes.
My biggest surprise of the evening was Anton, attending his first poetry event, and finding to everyone's surprise that he had actually enjoyed himself. Had a cheeky couple of drinks in the pub afterwards with Lorraine, Rosie and Anton and also chatted to John, and a few other folks who had been at the reading.
Into a taxi, and dropped Anton off before home. A long and tiring day - but another good night.
Below Robin, and me.
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