Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

It started during the first lockdown. Only one at first - Rachel the Skier. She was a regular on the slopes of Europe each winter with her goggle-eyed tan and her toned and shapely quads and glutes. Her choice of snowscape was the Hahnenkamm downhill race under a brilliant cobalt sky. I breathed in and felt the bitingly crisp, pure alpine air and thought for a moment I could hear the start-house beeps and the cacophony of cow bells and claxons of spectators behind her and the smell of the gluhwein being sipped slowly as part of a buzzing après ski. For the rest of us it was the usual backcloths of our writing rooms, the dirty mugs in the sink, the ironing board, full bookcases and the art adorning our walls: the garden at Giverny, the ubiquitous Mediterranean street scene, Vetriano’s dancing couple.         Perhaps it was the inspiration of the speaker that evening for a zoom masterclass on Setting and Place but by the following meeting, Matthew, ...

My Mother-in-law has this thing with age numbers, that if you are not happy with the age you are becoming, add the single digits together instead, to return to your younger self. I don’t remember much about being 11 , just that it was quite an odd time. I think I’d just moved to ‘middle’ school as they called it then - the in-between education before high-school at 13. It was the pre-teenage years so before my awful, self-conscious years of spotty skin, but also before I’d developed any kind of style. My hair was mainly in centre-parting plaits, accentuating my wide forehead and earning me the delightful nickname of ‘slap-head’. It regularly enticed my peers to do just that, what fun they had at my expense. This was one of the first stages of trying to become invisible at that time, to avoid the ‘slapping’ attention. Add to that, when I wasn’t in school uniform, I was mainly in jeans with holes at the knees, cheap bobbly jumpers, unbranded trainers, and often a red cap that I...

White on a steel cold night came a bright white covering all around a triumph over sound sharp edges depart woolly ways start crunch when we walk steam when we talk a chubby robin looks a child drops her books sun slowly climbs opening her blinds rosy faces cheer this time of year hearts full of song it won’t last long ©Christopher Lloyd

You were a late comer, last year. Content with hibernating well into the warm days of Spring. When the sun beat fiercely down upon our shoulders. You were asleep, curled up, dormant.   The golden rays of Summer coaxed you into growth. The Sunflowers strong and cheerful, encouraged you to bloom. Shoots emerge, the sign of new beginnings. Followed by leaves of green, dappled in raindrops.   Your first buds appeared when the leaves began to burn and fall. Then you coloured our garden like jewels, flashing brightly. Rich reds, purples and deep pinks, Decorating our borders like couture gowns.   We cautiously waited, For the first nip in the air, The first ice on the wind, For we knew this late display was cursed.   In just one night, one fingertip of frost caused your retreat. Like an enchanted princess, now you wait, For the kiss and warmth of the sun, To awaken you once more.

As we turn away from the old year and look to a new one in the hope that our lives will be happier, I thought that it might be timely to give this week’s blog over to the Dalai Lama and his Instructions for Life.  I wish you all a very safe, healthy and happy 2021. INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIFE by the Dalai Lama 1.         Take into account that great love and great achievement involve great risk 2.         Follow the three R’s.   Respect for self; Respect for others; Responsibility for your actions 3.         Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck 4.         Don’t let a little dispute injure a great friendship 5.         When you realise you’ve made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it 6.         Spend some time alone every day 7.         Open your arms to change but don’t let go o...