The Gold Cell
I’ve spent all week in a number of schools being Mr Poet Man for 10 year olds. Quite strange in some ways as my own stuff is so adult, yet I have the knack it seems to be able to do poetry and literacy stuff, which fires up people of all ages up. Four of the days were in the Lancashire town of Oswaldtwistle, which is such a great name, if I had a cat I would call it Oswaldtwistle. Ozzy Tiwstle, here boy. Anyway I’m allergic to cats. I worked with 1 class each day and we did a great deal of work on identity. Then on Thursday night, some of the kids got together to perform their work hosted by ‘you know who.’ Fabulous, lovely job, though I was stinking with a cold, we did great though.

Stephen calls, a good ear and a dear man. I keep drifting off, as I’m so tired. I’ll be down in London soon as I have some shows down there. I so much enjoy staying with Stephen. We laugh and cry a lot.

I’m in bed by half past nine, exhausted, sniffling, whiskey warmed, and muddled, head full of stuff.

I’ve spent the day resting; I’ve done nothing except for buying a lettuce from the local organic shop. Ate a bar a chocolate and chatted with my friend Keith.

I slept through the afternoon; post feta salad, hard night sleep. I’m starting to think about this small commission I have to complete for next Saturday, on the theme of identity, for a book for kids around 10 or 11 years old. I’m thinking of a rewrite of a recent piece that hasn’t been published yet, with a new front end added on. Also I’ve got to think about what I’m going to enter for the national poetry competition. ‘Cheap Moisturiser’ is looking like the one at the minute. It is a shame I can’t enter ‘Sunday’ as that is something. It even gets fan mail that poem. Seriously.