I’m late I’m late I’m late I’m late.

 

Sorry sorry sorry sorry, and thanks for hanging in there and coming back. Obviously you have come back if you’re reading this.

 

Mad time of year. Been buying hiking boots and procuring Indian visas, suffering typhoid, tetanus, hepatitis a and various other small doses before our big trip to India - flying to Delhi and then taking a train ride to the Nepalese border where we’ll be trekking from village to village, allegedly being kind of eco-tourists, helping the local economy and eating a lot of lentils. Both exciting and scary I’d say.

 

Otherwise it’s been the usual poetic rounds. I finished my poem a day for November - kind of staggered to the finish line with a terrible stitch and almost unable to breathe, but hey, I did it and I think some good poems will eventually ensue. But even writing my blog after that seemed a bit beyond me which perhaps explains my silence over the past week. I’m taking it easy on the creative front now, getting ready for our big trip, catching up on boring bits of admin and just topping up really. Great feeling to have so much work under my belt.

 

Life has been far from boring. We had our November Shuffle at the Poetry Cafe - well attended as ever. Afterwards I went on to the sixtieth birthday party of an  old family friend. Well, crashed it really, because my Uncle was here to attend and staying with me, and blagged me in. Fabulous event at BAFTA - sixty is definitely the new thirty if you ask me. These were beautiful people wearing some seriously fantastic frocks (no, not the men, although they looked pretty good too) And I met people I hadn’t seen for forty years, who remembered me as a pretty little girl. All in all a very emotional evening - some strange reunions and Tattinger flowing. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

 

Since my last blog I’ve also participated in an evening of erotic poetry by women. Whoo-hoo. Everything from the tangentially sensual through saucy and right into downright filthy. Pretty cool night.

 

Then there was the Magma Poetry event at Borders Charing Cross Road where I MC’d and did an interview too. That was fun. This kid sat down by the biscuit tin we’d brought for poor beleaguered poetry lovers hotfoot from the office, and pretty much scoffed the lot while the readings were going on. Nobody seemed to mind.

 

Been to the theatre a few times too. We’ve struck lucky three times recently: August, Osage County at the National Theatre (long and excellent with two intervals and a whole lifesize house on the stage of the Lyttleton), In a Dark Dark House (no relation!) at the Almeida - miserable, melodramatic but oddly well-written and engrossing, and then Matthew Bourne’s Edward Scissorhands at Sadlers Wells, which managed to simultaneously please my father and my seven year old. Rapturous but tragic.

 

I cannot let this blog go by without mentioning my surprise outing to Yotam Ottolenghi’s cookery class at Leith’s on Saturday with Robin. You have to understand that the man (Yotam I mean, not Robin) and his business partner, Sami Tamimi are GODS to me and there they were, standing right next to me, advising me on the chemical structure of albumen and helping me with my meatballs. If you look at the photo above you will spot Yotam O. in the background on the left. If you’ve never been to Ottolenghi’s you have really missed something. Seemingly outrageous combinations of foods - they are very fond of dill, coriander and pomegranates - thrown together by two genius chefs result in a combination of tastes that set your tongue humming. Their workshops are nothing like real life. They measure out all your ingredients in advance, and a bunch of cookery students clear up after you and do your washing up. So all of the fun and none of the slog. What a seriously fun morning. And we got to eat it all afterwards. Oh, and I will never confuse coriander and parsley again.