Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

'I have never read a whole book in all my life.' I recently overheard someone confessing to that.  We are all different (thank goodness), but what a loss it would be never to have read even one book from cover to cover. To read is to lose oneself in another world.  To sink between the covers, to envelope oneself in layer upon layer of finely crafted phrases.  Like Wild Swimming, you launch yourself into unknown waters and swim, letting the words wash over you.  Letting the language nibble at your toes, immersing yourself in someone else's imagination.  With some books, it is enough to float along the surface for ages, buoyed up by the temperature of the writing.  It may be cool enough to prick at your skin or it may be warmed by the sun to soothe and smooth.  With some books, however, you need to dive beneath the surface, head first then, kicking deeper, feel the weight of the developing story.  You need to explore the characters' depths, comi...

There are days, like today, when there is nothing there at all.  This is what it would have been like for Lucy, if, pushing through the moth-ball scented fur coats, she found only the wooden back of the wardrobe. This is how it would have been for Cinderella, if the pumpkin stayed vegetable and the mice stayed rodent. This is how it would have been if Alice had not fallen down the rabbit hole, or if Harry had stayed in the cupboard under the stairs.  If Aladdin rubbed the lamp, and it just got shinier, he would have felt like this. Domestically satisfied, possibly, at a job done efficiently. But imaginatively, an empty vessel. Washing done, ironing done, spellings tested, reading books laboured over. Words – unwritten. Not just unwritten – unthought, undreamt, unscribbled on a receipt in the bottom of my bag, un-tapped into my smartphone.  There are plenty of words, washing around my head like socks in the suds, but they are the wr...

    Eleven pairs of boots dangling down, A well-deserved lunch break and rest, Far above the city’s rooftops, We sit and survey our handiwork. A drink and a joke and a smoke, Companionable chat and mutual respect, The honest dignity of a hard day’s work, And a view not many have seen. Up here we feel like the kings of the world, Building the future but alive in the present, Our skyscraper will join many others, But for us it will always stand proud. We were born to move and create with our hands, And we do so six days a week, Our limbs may ache with exhaustion, But our faces reveal a proud satisfaction. Eleven pair of boots dangling down, Long since lost, rotted and vanished, But our fingers will linger on those bricks forever, And our spirits still soar above the New York skyline. This poem was inspired by the famous black and white photo 'Lunch atop a Skyscraper' ...

When did saying hello or goodbye stop being simple?  I’m sure it was simple when I was at school.  Just “Hello” and “Goodbye” would suffice. The art of letter writing was quite straightforward.  You only had to remember to sign off “Yours sincerely” to a named person and “Yours faithfully” to an unnamed “Sir” or “Madam”.  When I recently received a text from a burly builder friend, apologising for not having put a “x” at the end of his previous text, it made me laugh out loud, but also had me thinking how complicated it has all become, and what an awful waste of emotional energy we must expend trying to get it right. I think I was first aware of the issue in the sixth form when some of the drama luvvies  started to air kiss when they met each other.  Being air kissed for the first time was quite a shock and straight out of my comfort zone.  I struggled with that through university and into the work place.  Is it the right thing to actually ...