Having missed out on driving Son the Elder to Crewkerne last week - and enjoying a day fossicking around Dorset while he roboteered - because of waking up in the morning to the flattest of flat tyres that Could Not Be Pumped Back Up (and needed replacing), I was relieved to get safely down to Devon for my reading in Totnes a few days later. First, though, a stop on Dartmoor, my heart's home.
Hound Tor
Looking over to Hayne Down
I chose to visit Hound Tor, hoping that through the miracle of magical thinking, the late-flowering bluebells that cover the Down and Holwell Lawn might somehow be out, but as I suspected, I was just a bit too early to witness that glorious lavender haze that seems to float over the moor when they're in full bloom.
A few were just beginning to show their faces, though, along with heath milkwort, spring cinquefoil and marsh lousewort, which were lovely to see.
View across the Beckabrook to Black Hill, Grea Tor, Smallacombe Rocks, Haytor, Holwell Tor, etc
It was very warm for April, despite the breeze, so I had a bit of a sit-down on a rock. Up ahead a deer was grazing, and down in the valley, the cuckoos were shouting to each other.
The deer is in the middle distance, against a patch of green
Grea Tor
Looking from Haytor and Holwell Tor to Saddle and Rippon Tors
It was then nearly time to leave, so I wandered back through the rocky outcrops of Hound Tor.
Looking back towards Haytor, you can see a face in profile in the rock
Looking up to Easdon Tor, with Hayne Down in the middle distance
Then down down down to Totnes, where a poster of me and my fellow-Bristol-poet-and-reader, Tom Sastry, greeted me on the door of the venue, which was the Barrel House and very fabulous indeed. I spent some time staring in every direction, open-mouthed.
Julie Mullen was our MC, and she'd put together a great bill, but first she read some of her own arresting poetry.
Then the first of two sets by the fantastic Bulgarian vocal group, Gora Ensemble, who were mesmerising ...
And me, I read too, from 'Love the Albatross'. Here's an accidental selfie that couldn't have been better composed if I tried.
It was so good to meet poets I'd only previously been friends with online, as well as catching up with real life mates, including my old friend Bob Mann, whom I've known for years and accidentally lost touch with when his computer died. Firmly back in contact again now, thanks to the poster on the venue door.
Then it was back home up the M5 and into bed at 1am, my five hours' sleep before the alarm went off leaving me to a zombie for most of the next day, but a small price to pay for a precious few hours on Dartmoor and a gig I'll never forget.
