Saturday and its the day to travel to the great smoke in the south, London. Todays the day the Arvon writers course gets together. So I am up and packing an overnight bag and my back pack, which I stuff my laptop in and a couple of bottles of champagne, real champagne not the Italian fizzy muck which appears to be all the rage. Actually it makes no difference to me as I do not drink since my Jamaica adventure but I like to see others enjoy what I no longer can. Before getting busy with any of the travel preparations and breakfast I decide to weigh myself as I will not be home tomorrow morning my usual weigh in time. So I pop into the bath room and step up onto the scales feeling confident that all the effort I’ve put in all week will have paid dividends. I am bitterly disappointed; 93.8 Kilos, almost exactly the same as last week. I wonder why I bother. Start again Monday.
We eat breakfast, clear the house as much as possible and then pack the car. There is time to catch the first half of a football match and then my partner and I hit the road. The drive is amazingly clear and to my surprise we do not get directed off at the M25 but carry on into London and then around the north circular. God how boring is that I’m turning in to an old bloke. Anyway by the wonders of Satnav we arrive at our Muswell Hill B & B and get shown to our room. We have coffee, change and then at the right time we walk, yes I know, walking in London is pretty brave especially in the dark, to our hosts house. We of course used google maps, aren’t they wonderful, magical talking maps.
The evening is a lovely experience. We sit and eat and drink and catch up with each other. We want to know what each other has been doing since the course and the most import piece of information is whether we have all continued writing. Our host provides lovely food and an environment that is rich in culture, cultures and kindness. So we chat and eat and enquire of each other and then we move to the lounge upstairs. Here we settle down and read to each other. I and my partner read our latest poems. One reads a brilliant start to an Hilaire Belloc type cautionary tale, another reads an extract from her book. Another reads extracts from a short story, another part of her novel. Yet another reads the next chapter from her spikily observant book and the final contribution is a tale of mythical being. Each contribution is discussed and we give and receive feedback. There is lively debate and the stories are explored. It is a rare and lovely experience. Eventually it is time for for people to leave and we slowly disperse. One of the group is in an AirBNB on our route back so we walk with her till our paths divide. As my partner and I walk some bloke walks up and say “Hello my name is Roland”, what are the odds eh? Of course he wants money, I explain to him that I have none because I’m all plastic. He is bemused and wanders off. We continue to walk back to our B&B and then we see a fox! Walking down the road like it owns the place. Really, we travel from the county that has a fox as an emblem adn find one in Muswell Hill.
Look carefully 
Ta Da, fox, honest.
We watch the fox trot off and then make our way to the B&B where we go to bed and lay awake with the evening going around in our heads. I have a head full of different “voices”. Such talented people all with their own unique voice reflecting their internal universes and how they make meaning of he world. A choir of meaning.
Sunday and I wake in a strange bed to the sound of my Eric Sartie alarm. Our breakfast is delivered to our room by the masked host. We eat a very healthy continental breakfast washed down with lashings of fresh coffee. Then we are off on a clear Sunday morning while the vast majority of the capital is still slumbering. The drive home is remarkably swift so by lunchtime I am tucking into a bacon bagel and settling down to televised rugby matches. My day drifts by as I watch the games, eat tea and give myself up to TV and the writing of the blog.
I find myself tired, which is why there is not a lot of what I want to say about the get together in detail. It is a group of incredibly talented and educated people who it is difficult to do justice to in a blog. However the evening has reinforced my thoughts about stopping doing some of my work things to make time to actually focus on the stuff I am writing. Perhaps the Poetry Coyote needs time to be.
