A WEEKEND OF RETURNS
In the eighties and nineties I performed in several amateur theatre productions. Acting both terrified and delighted me. In the noughties my job often took me around England and Wales to give talks to audiences ranging from little more than a dozen to more than two hundred. Presenting both terrified and satisfied me. Last night we went to a poetry and music event where audience members were invited to bring along a poem and read it out. So I did. My first stage appearance in many years. It both terrified and pleased me. The ham lives on...
(This was the poem I chose to read out.)
My last post in this blog was back in January. I have continued to write ever since. Every day. Mostly nonsense, mostly mundane, often rambling and incoherent (well, not quite Trumpian levels of incoherence...). But I write. I haven't felt like sharing it. With anyone.
But here I am again. Here I hope to return. Because last night reminded me that, as the ham, the performer, is still within me, so is the writer. So is the desire to expose my writing to others. And in doing so expose myself (but not in the way that attracts police attention). Even if hardly anyone bothers to read this...
There will be more (may contain Lego). Probably...
