It’s the middle of August and we’re slowing down after a crazy but successful 4 months or so. I’ve even been out on my bike – twice in a week. We’re getting the hang of this wedding business. We have learned that we accumulate fatigue and now build in recovery breaks. We’re beginning to get the balance right. I suppose we’ve reached the point that all new businesses reach which is being able to say “No”. We no longer worry about enquiries drying up – which is nice for both of us.
The UK is officially in a drought situation. We have experienced weeks of several days of temperatures in the mid to high 30 degrees and nobody can remember when it last rained on this once soggy isle. The emerald lawns of suburbia are a shortbread biscuit beige and just as crispy. Climate deniers are suspiciously quiet. Crops are withering where they stand. We have been warned to expect flash flooding- sometime.
The ruling party in the UK have been successful in giving us the worst Prime Minister we have ever known and they are expected to out do themselves in electing his replacement. That will be our fourth PM in 7 years. The ruling party, often referred to as “the Nasty Party”, continues to target the poor, less able-bodied, and less well off in society in our Cost of Living crisis. Displaying a staggering drought of any moral empathy with the most needy amongst us they are content to see the poor suffer in the name of ideology. I can put it no more plainly than that. I am happy to be challenged.
It’s 3 years since I had anything published ( a piece of flash fiction by Fish Publishing) but I do try to keep my creative muscles flexed. I’m just rubbish at searching and time starved to find publications to submit to. Having said that, I have recently been inspired to try my hand at prose poetry and to try to get under the skin of this form. It’s a little like pinning the tail on the donkey. I love the challenge of trying to achieve the sweet spot between prose that reads like poetry but is a poem that reads like prose. I know 🤷🏼… I see an imaginary line, poetry this side, prose the other, and with a petanque boule I am trying to lob the perfect pitch to sit on the line or smack the donkey on the arse. ( Beat that for mixing your metaphors!)
So, 9.00 pm, the air is still and another day of unusual heat is coming to an end. Tux has managed to keep himself cool and will slowly come to life as the evening turns to night and cats go off and do what they do. Bats are beginning to circulate and it is serenely quiet. I love these moments at the end of a hot day. But I know I shouldn’t. This is England, after all. Lord help us if we start hearing crickets.