Another writing and editing session in Glastonbury today, for the piece on climate catastrophe some of us west-based poets are preparing, and as it was misty and sunny and beautiful, Dominic and I decided to avoid the M5 and take the scenic route.
I was hoping for a repeat of this: the October Sunday, seven and a bit years ago, when we stopped on Bristol Hill, en route for Wells Literary Festival, to gaze at the mist spreading over the Vale of Avalon.
But as we descended from the sunlit heights of the Mendip Hills, it became clear that it was too foggy to see anything at all. This is the view of the coombe from Rachael's sitting room.
Throughout the day, I took little breaks to look out the window and watch its gradual retreat.
First the top of the Mendips came into view ...
... then the houses down the hill ...
... and finally the towers of Wells Cathedral on the far side of a distant river of mist.
Then, before we left, it came piling back in again.
I had a hunch it might be worth returning the way we came, so we drove to Wells, ascended Bristol Hill, turned around by the TV mast at the top, and drove back down the hill, pulling over just above the sign post where I'd stopped all those poetry years ago.
And we were rewarded with this.
A reminder, perhaps, that when you can no longer be bothered to go out of your way to find beauty, it might be time to call it a day.
It's been nearly all nose-to-the-grindstonery lately, though I did get to see Daljit Nagra read at the Bristol Poetry Institute's Annual Reading a few nights ago.
And today it was off to the Levels, following the curve of cloud across the Mendips. It was still in view when we arrived at our destination in Glastonbury.
We'd gathered to discuss the poetry collage we're planning to put together on the subject of climate catastrophe.
Susan, Rachael, Simon and Alwyn
It was an intense but productive few hours.
Dominic and Miranda
Then we played spot the roe deer in the combe at the back of Rachael's house.
Can't see her?
Here she is.
And there's another three in this photo ...
... bathing in mid-November sun.
I was hoping for a repeat of this: the October Sunday, seven and a bit years ago, when we stopped on Bristol Hill, en route for Wells Literary Festival, to gaze at the mist spreading over the Vale of Avalon. 
I had a hunch it might be worth returning the way we came, so we drove to Wells, ascended Bristol Hill, turned around by the TV mast at the top, and drove back down the hill, pulling over just above the sign post where I'd stopped all those poetry years ago. 
