So, I’ve been to Spain and come back again. And mucked up the password on this blog and had to set a new one. And, despite my best intentions, kept little by way of a diary so as to have jolly interesting and throught-provoking -nay, inspiring, even – content to add here.
I’m not really built to blog, it seems, being neither introspective, retrospectiveor, in fact, considering how often I mislay and can’t find my glasses, often any kind of spectrive at all; which surprises me really, as I take so much pleasure from words. Other people’s , it seems. I’ve just caught up with Kevin Revell’s Emu blogs – well written, with interesting things happening and a quirky take on them; I spent a lovely couple of hours yesterday with the author Sue Welfare, and then eavesdropped in the evening on some poetry being read in the pub after panto preliminaries, taking great delight in all the second-hand wordsmithing; I read in excess of 10 books while in Spain and was delighted to receive a Kindle for my birthday, onto which – eventually, after considerable struggles with the vagaries of t’interweb- my first download was of T.S. Eliot’s complete outpourings so I can have those wondrous words with me all the time.
Pete, whose output in Spain included : a training schedule, half a dozen assorted drawings and paintings ( mixed media), cutting the hedges, mending 16 punctures, re-gearing a bike, rewiring a lighting circuit, replacing light fittings, and painting a wall, had much to write about and reflect on, and did. He’s born to blog – observant, reflective, creative. But it’s me on here. So maybe I should start making a go of it and see if I can interest myself, for want of anyone else desperate enough to be an audience. There’s a whole wolrd of words out there that I really wot not of. Do I have a place in it? Let’s find out.
