Our weekend at Aldeburgh started badly. Just before I was due to pick up Dot from her team-building day at the King of Hearts it started raining hard, and it kept on going. Very slow journey as it got dark, and a car warning light came on – later revealed by the manual to be a problem with the auto-levelling of the lights. At the cottage we couldn’t open the key safe and had to call the owner out while we waited in the rain. The central heating was also set too low, but I managed to sort that out.
After tea (I had brought some food) we went to a reading at the Jubilee Hall which was brilliant: J O Morgan, who won the festival prize last year and has a Dylan-Thomas-like storytelling style, only Scottish; Matthew Caley, who could have made a living as a comedian if he hadn’t been such a good poet; and Don Paterson, the well-known Scot. The next day I bought a book by Caley and got him to sign it.
Back at the cottage I thought I’d lost the rest of the tickets and so after an extensive but fruitless search had my second bad night’s sleep in a row. The following morning, while we were barely conscious and the rain had stopped, Dot found them in the bottom of the cold bag. Dragged ourselves to the Jubilee Hall to hear a discussion on a poet’s toolkit chaired by Don Paterson and featuring Bill Manhire, Marie Howe and Lars Gustafsson. Again very good and quite inspiring. On the way there we had run into Caroline Gilfillan and afterwards also Kaaren Whitney, who we met at the Lowestoft reading. Had morning snack at 152, just off the High Street and bought bread. Had a late bath and returned to the fray at a lunchtime session led by John Irons on the difficulties of translating poetry: as a musician he was very concerned with getting the pulse right, but I wondered if the precision of the words wasn’t equally important. Good stuff, though.
Afterwards we queued to lunch at the Golden Galleon fish and chip shop, then bought me a couple of Fat Face sweaters before booking in for supper on Sunday at the famed Brudenell Hotel and embarking on a walk along the top of the sea wall, then inland and home (about 2 miles). Took lots of photos in bright late afternoon sunlight. Later watched F1 practice on TV and the football results: late equaliser from the Canaries.
The evening session after tea (Dot had bought food while I was in the bath) was another reading featuring John Glenday, who was excellent; Dorianne Laux, who was OK; and Bernard Kops, who was a Jewish one-off, ranging between brilliant and annoying. Caroline was also present, but we declined the opportunity of another session and walked home, watching some Battlestar Galactica before bed. Good night’s sleep at last.
Woke quite late. To Jubilee Hall again: rained as we were about to go in, happily delayed because Dot had persuaded me to buy another sweater on the way. Lecture by Don Paterson on Frost: bit esoteric but worth hearing, though DP is not a natural speaker. His God-is-not-there philosophy is a bit intrusive, unless of course you agree with him. Coffee afterwards, followed by drop-in at Peter Pears gallery for exhibition – OK, but not sparkling. Ominous grey clouds and occasional rain.
Later went for a walk to the Martello Tower and beyond: very cold and windy; even the fishermen were giving up and walking on to Orford Ness to dry out. However, the sun broke through as we returned to watch F1 from Brazil. Not quite the result we wanted. To Brudenell Hotel for evening meal: very good without being superb. Shrimps, wood pigeon, duck, brûlée and a very nice Shiraz. Watched two more episodes of Battlestar Galactica, then a bit more football before bed. Two more results we didn’t want: Liverpool winning and Arsenal losing.
Not a great night, but redeemed sleeplessness by writing a couple of poems. Next morning the wind had greatly increased: pretty much a gale, with sea hurtling in at Gunton, north of Lowestoft, where I found myself eating a sandwich in the car after dropping Dot off at Corton school. A good view of it, first from the clifftop road and then from a potholed car park at the end of the promenade with the narrowest entrance (between threatening concrete blocks) that you are likely to find anywhere. Earlier I had popped into Lowestoft, where I bought said sandwich.
Picked up Dot from the school around 1.30pm and after a quick return to the seafront drove back to Norwich. As we approached the rain started again. The house was very cold, because I’d turned the heating off in case of a repeat of the pump sticking. So we unpacked to warm ourselves up and then watched a bit of TV before I played a chess game against Terry Glover at the club. He has a jinx on me. I played a really good game and then managed to lose on time when he stirred up some slight complication which I could have avoided. When my flag fell – without my even realising it was close – I still had a won position. Naturally I had another bad night.