The Royal Wedding (or, It’s exactly a year ago…)

And so, The Year is approaching. And as the Royal couple get ready for their Big Day, amongst the media buzz and furore, I try to forget my Big Day.

Forget the excitement of the last few days of singledom; the brilliant Hen night, the last minute preparations, the finishing touches and eleventh-hour-decisions. Although, I must say, I’m happiest forgetting the smoke spewing from my credit cards.

There were ever widening ripples of excitement amongst family and friends. Proud faces, happy congratulations – but above all, there was the two of us. There was my blind trust in him; that we were a ‘team’. We’d see each other through the minor stresses to enjoy the biggest and best day of our lives. Because after it, we knew we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.

What a difference A Year makes?

I’ve moved to a new place, on my own. I say ‘new’ – but this town is where I’ve had my happiest memories. I lived here when I was around 5 to about 10 years old. ‘Here’ was the first house mum and dad owned. Here is where I went to school, had a best friend..’played out’ ‘til late with my next door neighbour; oh, and fell while swinging on bollards putting my teeth through my bottom lip.

I like it here – but I don’t like the worry that comes with planning to meet bills, and make ends meet, having no one to lean on; no more ‘team’.

It’s the wine – I’m being a tad negative.

Yes on the other hand, there’s the positive challenge of being on my own. Doing my own thing, and at my own pace. The positive making of me as a strong and motivated woman, who’s not reliant on a man.

This is what I was before I met him actually – although never single, I was quite independent. But once you start leaning on someone, you easily get used to the support, and become lazy.

Anyway, wine aside. Today, I’m sad.

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Poem: Vauxhall Bridge

I hid my chapped lips,
The last vestige of winter
Save for the wind which blew tear tripping cold.
It ruffled the watery murk, blowing it across the vauxhall bridge traffic;
Now surreal by osmosis.

Later, balm smeared my wine glass.
Merlot hid the cracks,
And you painted a similar picture;
Something cold, and murky
And we didn’t give it a name.
We didn’t stop for dessert,
And I only had myself to blame.

The London Poetry Festival: 7th – 10th August 2009

Poets are brave souls. Not only do they pour out their heart into their PCs, choosing the most eloquent words to describe the sometimes stained, sometimes rank, always kaleidoscopic world we live in; they also read them out!

So, knees knocking, i also performed..and it does felt good!

This year my favourites were: ‘Poets in Residence’ Aiko Harman (Link here) and Rowena Knight (Link here).

I was in awe of quietly spoken poetry legend, Michael Horovitz (Link here), both he and his son, Adam read – leaving me feeling as though i’d met the First Family or something!

Prolific writer, and The London Poetry Festival organiser Munayem Mayenin (Link here) gave me a copy of his life’s work – Laranska, The Anatomy of fear…i’m thinking i should get reading!

The Winning Ticket
Dom Perignon and a bumptious new friend,
Danced on my head Sunday morning.
Sock and braless note a rambunctious end
A man on the floor still snoring.