It’s really felt wintery this week in this big, cold house. The radiators are very old and do almost nothing so all the heat comes from the wood burner. I’ve never had one before and I’ve enjoyed watching the flames in the evenings. Luckily the mice had already vacated the woodpile. The hospital is a strange place to work – in it’s old age, a real shame and a risk. All the old staff accommodation is boarded and is now decaying quickly. I look at weeds overtaking the gardens, cracks in the plywood covering the windows and imagine dampness setting in. The trees in the grounds are beautiful and shedding in the wind. I’ve had to use the wipers to move the red and gold oak leaves every day this week. I’ve been caught in rainstorms today and the car always seems misted up – the only one in the carpark. I must be doing something wrong! I have a week off now in Yorkshire. I’m very much hoping to get some writing done if I can and some time with special people I’m lucky to have.
I’ve been writing this week. It’s a bit of a compulsion. The routine is usually the same. Get up, school run, work, home, nap, tea, one TV program, write in bed. I’ve put a few new poems on the site. West Pier and An Immigrant, Dover were published in Wild Atlantic Words and Night at Whitestone Farm was short-listed for the Canterbury University Poet of the Year Award. I would always welcome comments.
I’m looking forward to my poem being pubished in Mslexia shortly. I have also subscribed to Brittle Star and am looking forward to reading that while away, plus the short stories of Mary Lavin and the new biography of Angela Carter. I must also say thank you so much to those people who have commented on my poems with real encouragement and insight though the website of my friend Kath Burlinson authenticartist.co.uk/ and through her Facebook page.