More of the same, more of the same
Still busy with family. I went to see my mother in Liverpool, also catching up with my sister and two of my brothers. Good fun, and I slept so much while travelling I feel like a new person. It doesn’t mean there is much writing going on, however. I have been Christmassed – you know the stage where every brain cell you have left is full of presents and who is going to be home and what will they eat and defrosting the freezer.
Also every time I turn around there seems to be something lovely that my grand-daughter would really like.
Nevertheless. Two poems last week, one of them even finished. And the news about next year’s festivals is coming out – StAnza looks fabulous already. Usually it sneaks up on me and I find myself saying “Oh, if only I’d known last week—” Next year it will be different!
Here is the link