Fingers in so many pies I can't tell which is burning!
The nights have got darker, the days shorter the work load heavier. October is always as such. The Christmas adverts have begun. The inexorable slide into enforced cheeriness is upon us all. The Adverts, the dancers with stiff smiling faces, the high pitched game show voice overs, the squeaky pig tailed children clutch dolls in the Ritalin world of Bright things. Primary colours ooze out the LCD screen with the distorted childs voicein a loop Buy Me…Buy Me Buy Me
It’s been a week that was . On Tuesday Wednesday and Thursday I was writer in residence at The NALD confererence surrounded by Mountains in the picturesque town of Kendal on the lip of The Idyllic Lake District. The view from the hotel window was breathtaking. Friday and Saturday back in London busy writing the narration for The Lost Boys Of Africa a radio docu-drama to be broadcast on BBC Radio Four on 7th November. And today, Sunday I’ll be in the studio recording it.
Two things I regret so far, this month. One is that I swore on stage at an event for agroup called Blackdrop in Nottingham. I thoroughly enjoyed the reading, but I swore on stage and sometimes forget how lethal the swear word can be in the minds of some people. And secondly I didn’t have the opportunity to finish an article for poetry review – an article I have been truly wanting to write. I shall write the article anyway and I shall see what happens.
On another note altogether. Isn’t bonfire night - November 5th - glorification of terrorism. How does it look to an outsider as we celebrate the burning of a man “guy fawkes”. How does it look as we simulate explosions in memory of his attempt to blow up parlaiment. How might it seem as we pull baking potatoes from the fire and eat them? Thecelebrations seems slightly suspect in the light of recent events. This is England's dilemma. On the one hand it wants to be a world leader an example of modernity. And onthe other it enacts an arcane virtually pagan ritual in the burning of a man on a fire.Nice.
The art of being a writer is not to be busy, but to be.