Wye Canoe?

You know those nights when you can’t sleep, so you get up but you know damn well, that being wide awake for a couple of hours before the tweety birds start up will not augur well for the day ahead?

If I am awake, I think there is an outside chance something useful will occur. I might write something unexpectedly inspired, read something moving or learn something new.

It was precisely one of those early mornings when I learned the ‘J’ stroke. Just to be clear, I’m not referring to some intimate personal therapy demonstrated on a dodgy pay-for site, but the movement you make with a canoe paddle so you can steer your vessel on a straight course from one side of it without having to paddle on alternate sides. Perhaps I didn’t put that very well but in essence, it kind of avoids having to zig-zag down the river in your canoe narrowly missing hitting the banks on either side. Continue reading “Wye Canoe?”

Hay ho

I started writing this when it was wet and cold at Hay – so cold you could see your breath – but somehow still worth it.

Not the kind of weather to spend any time at all on the dizzy heights of Lord Hereford’s Knob. Oh no.

Hay Festival’s weather is fickle. It alters in a heartbeat and a glimpse of sun suddenly makes all those deckchairs on the central lawn advertising holidays in Spain seem suddenly so appropriate. Continue reading “Hay ho”