HOPE, HOME, AND FAMILY

I have found writing difficult lately. It’s ironic really - my first poetry book is about to come out, I’m employed as a technical ‘author’, and I am (as you’ve seen) engaged in lengthy correspondence with John Lewis. I just haven’t been able to put a decent blog post together for a while.

I’ve started a few. I had some observations on football the other day that were *chef’s-kiss* electric. I tried writing that one during England’s 3-0 demolition of Senegal in the World Cup but while it seems I can remain perfectly placid as the ball zips into the net, barely anyone else around me could contain themselves. It was all a bit distracting.

Then there’s the ongoing house drama. Writing about that is almost as deflating as trying to live through it, and fifteen weeks after moving out of our flat, we are kind of exhausted even talking about it. Not that we mind anyone asking.

Meanwhile the weather’s gone cold. Autumn slipped into winter somehow and now the afternoons are Christmassy and the wind is freezing. I could wax on about the weather again but I don’t think it’s exactly uplifting. I’ve come to realise that expressing yourself lyrically is fun and even therapeutic, but my poetry is not everyone’s cup of tea.

All of that leaves me in Costa, for a quick lunch break, and a drink that’s curiously all adjectives: a small, decaf, oat, flat white. I’m not even sure I’ve got those in the right order. How have we got to a world where a product is made out of adjectives?

I’ll try to write more often towards Christmas. That season, more than any other, seems to evoke a lot of emotions. It’s a swirl of colour isn’t it, around the ideas of hope, home and family.

I like to think about those things a lot at the moment.