Sunday, 13 September 2015

Travels With Mr Poetry

The big white Home Improvements van was parked slantwise, almost encroaching on the neighbouring space in Tescos car park in Thornbury, but as this was the only one available, I took a deep breath and squeezed my way in.  With that, the driver and his mate reappeared.  In my side mirror I caught a glimpse of builder's bum as he got into the driving seat.  Then he got out and accosted my partner, who was sorting poetry festival brochures in the boot.  Oh God, he's going to accuse me of scraping his van, I fretted.  

'Funny you should say that,' I heard my partner say. 'Have one of these. See you there!'

'He said "You're that bloke from the poetry festival, aren't you?" my partner said as he got back into the car. 'I said "Yes, do you like poetry?" and he kind of half glanced at his mate and said "Well, the missus does, you know. Anything coming up soon?"'

It can be a thankless task delivering brochures and very difficult to know how effective it is. I suspect electronic publicity reaches more people, like you reading this now. Although possibly not the Mayor, whom we saw emerge from a restaurant on the waterfront on Thursday lunchtime.  

'Oh, I'll definitely come along to this!' he exclaimed as we proffered our post funding cuts, Bristol City Council logo-free publicity.  

'We'll be on the lookout for you!' I cried gaily. 


Being a dark poet, my dog Ted often comes with us on brochure runs, particularly when there's the prospect of a walk involved.  Like after the drop at Weston-Super Mare library. 



So the scones in our cream tea were on the dry side. You can't have it all.  And in a fortnight that saw the finding of what is to be my new home, one of my poems making the shortlist for the Bridport Prize, the offer of publication by Indigo Dreams Publishing of my third poetry collection in 2016, and the election of a Labour Party Leader who doesn't believe in punishing the poor and the disabled for the greed of the rich, there is more than a glimmer of light.








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