Remind me never to do a poem a day for a whole month again. It’s akin to pulling a toenail every morning. No sooner do I finish off today’s than I start to obsesss about the pain of writing tomorrow’s and it only gets more difficult. Now I’ve started, I feel I have to finish. It’s a bit like my own personal poetry marathon but without the crowds on the sidelines to cheer me on. I can’t believe I’m less than halfway through the month and I’ve got to come up with sixteen more poems. But hey, who’s counting? I am! I’m counting! I am not good at abandoning this sort of challenge halfway so I just have to stay the course. Somehow.

 

Otherwise it’s been a great week. The dog’s been playing up a bit, and I’m a bit tired and jaded after my daughter’s party full of ebullient and nauseous sixteen year olds high on alco-pops followed by my own rather more stately poetry party that nevertheless involved whisky, champagne and rather too much chocolate cake. But oh I love poets. Spend and evening with a bunch of them and you’ll never get bored. Most poets are interested in almost everything. It seems to me that poetry is about making unlikely connections and poets are just normal people slightly re-wired. In a good way ... yes, in a good way.

 

The rest of the family are arriving tomorrow night and I’m looking forward to a generally higher quota of hugs than I’ve been getting this week. I’ve had a fantastic time though, with my daughter Tamar. We’ve been girls together, doing girlie stuff - chick-flicks, cookery, chattery (yes, I know that’s not a word) and just hanging out together. I will miss that intimacy. And the peace of a nearly empty house.

 

The coming week will be interesting. A poem a day in the school holidays. Quite a challenge. But hey, I’ve committed myself. I’ve got off the ski lift and I’m nearly halfway down the slalom. Can’t stop now.