The journey.
Today is MY day
Today is all about me.
And the starting point - brrr, cold water.
OK, so it was always going to be an early start, from our house to Devon is a long way without a teleporter, and, as Scotty would say, "you cannae change the laws of physics", a long journey takes a long time.
But really!! Who left the hot tap running all night?
Oh well, at least I start the day wide awake, even if it is still dark outside.
Presents, check; iPad, check; handbag, check; address, check; pens, double check.
Let's go. Aargh, hard frost all over the car. Scrape the windows, defrost the fingers, headlights on, point the car South and we are on our way.
I am being chauffeur driven, bliss.
The radio insidiously drip feeds us with a tincture of impending doom, the cheesy Wotsit made flesh, the reality of Donald Trump inaugurated as POTUS.
RADIO SILENCE
This gives us the luxury of conversation, the subject of pans is banned; the escape from the tyranny of the mobile phone, no-one is going to call us this early on a Saturday morning; the chance to appreciate, if not photograph, a quite spectacular sunrise and, oh yes........ the nerves.
I am going on a writing course, run by Diana Henry, need I say more - well no, but I feel I should and that will come in ensuing instalments - at the Grand Designs featured house of Mark and Candida Diacono, Otter Farm. Fans face with hands, mutters "OMG" under the breath and hyperventilated like a teenager bumping into Ed Sheeran in Asda.
Of course I am looking forward to this, it was on my letter to Santa and I actually cried when the big man delivered. Boy, I must have been really good in 2016.
26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20
Research and accuracy are key, as we will learn.
For 26 days I have been counting down.
And now, as they say, the day dawns.
Except we are actually up before the dawn, so moonlight illuminates the underlying anxiety.
Who else will be there? They are all bound to be wittier, more erudite, better read, accomplished, published writers, full of social graces and ready with the casual elegance of those thoroughly at one with themselves and their talent, aren't they?.
Will my "interview" with headmistress Diana ( we were all asked to submit a piece of writing in advance for critical review) be akin to that with the chain smoking Miss Duckles, my year 2 (year 8 for the younger generations) art teacher at Grammar School, who likened my painstakingly rendered trees to sticks of chewed celery, many, many years ago? No, I am not bitter, really I'm not, Miss Duckles, I am sure you revelled in your straight talking, for which read brutal, reputation and times were different then.
Would Diana find kinder words to tell me that you can't make a silk purse from a sows ear?
Oh, what the hell, the sun's come up, the day is mine and I am going to make the most of it.
© Netherton Foundry Shropshire 2017
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