Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

Emma arrived late, as usual, at our weekly writers’ lunch in The Blue Rooms cafe, Byram Arcade in Huddersfield. On this occasion, none of us were interested in the Perrinesque reason for her lateness because Emma was carrying the proof copy of Dining on WORDS . Our pre-lunch chatter ceased as the physical evidence of our co-labours was passed around the table to nods of approval and checks that our names were really on the back cover. The collection was created from pieces which first appeared on this blog. The lunches, initially a way for several ex and current creative writing students from Kirklees College to stay in touch, developed into a writing group where we support and encourage each other’s works-in-progress. Over time, we could see each other’s writing develop in range and confidence. We had publication successes to share, from articles to competitions and books, fiction and non-fiction. The blog encouraged us to keep writing – and to keep lunching – because our only fi...

The town lies below me in the valley, a star-shape of grey slate and stone framed by the green hills. I’m anonymous in the peleton , hidden away by my team. The break-away at the front is just for show, and the task of the moment is a safe, high-speed descent to the ring road and into town. The wind, loud in my ears, almost drowns out the noise of the crowd. I glimpse flags and faces through the pack of riders. Hunched over the bars and hiding in the slipstream of the bikes ahead of me, I rest my legs for the climb that I know will come all too soon. It’s a climbing day. It’s not the Pyrenees, no, but the laws of physics and human biology dictate that I will spend much more time going up than going down. All too soon, I’m on my way back out of the town. The climb starts gently enough, a smooth incline waking up the muscles for the torture that lies ahead. The gap between one bike and another grows, centimetre by centimetre as the strain begins to tell. The nonchalant smiles of t...