OK, so the footwear is sorted, sort of. But what else to wear, is there a dress code for this kind of event? The nerves tingle and sting like Spring nettles. What will everyone else be wearing? Am I being too shallow? Will there be a yummy mummy contingent, ladies d'un certain age and a certain, confident style, media maidens, sassily strutting their AllSaints apparel? Nothing in my wardrobe shouts "writing course" at me, oh where is my Elizabeth David outfit when I need it.
Pull yourself together, woman. This is a food writing course, not a remake of The Devil Wears Prada. You are meeting Diana Henry, not Anna Wintour. All the same, as the saying goes, clothes maketh the (wo)man, so I need something that is not only comfortable, but which will also boost confidence.
Black dress, black boots, grey cardigan, done.
And as I walk into Mark and Candida's glorious kitchen at Otter Farm and meet Diana, I take in her black dress, black boots and grey cardigan. I feel better already. Better yet with a cup of coffee and a still warm, fennel fragrant biscuit, produced by the disarmingly youthful 5 o'clock apron, aka Claire Thomson.
The other course attendees start arriving. Coffee and tea flow freely and initial, introductory conversations stutter into life. We are issued with sticky name labels and V. uses hers to cover the toothpaste mark on her black top and I inwardly acknowledge my right to be here. What's more it's a joy to discover that I already "know" some of these people from the virtual world of social media, where we so often expose our personalities and hide our identities.
More coffee, and, with the arrival of long distance traveller, A., we begin.
I open the beautiful notebook, given to me at Christmas by my daughter, especially for today. I don't want to miss a thing.
I listen, I make notes, I drink more coffee, I eat sublime cake, thanks again Claire, listen again, make more notes, eat a delicious lunch, yes, prepared by Claire, and swig home made Limoncello with sparkling Otter Farm wine.
Enough to be glad that I am not the one to be driving home, not so much that the afternoon will be a somnolent haze.
Just as well, because as soon as the lunch dishes are cleared, it's our turn to work. Write a piece in 45 minutes; a metaphoric blank piece of paper insolently defies us to pick a topic, an audience and a coherent collection of words.
THIS IS NOT EASY. But harder yet is reading it aloud to the group.
Deep breath, don't look up, go for it. There is appreciation, laughter - reassuringly in the places I'd expected - and relief. I listen to the others' pieces; this room is brimming with talent, wit and warmth.
The day is over, we have run over our allotted finish time and yet it has past all too swiftly.
I am not going to divulge details of the course itself, you will have to attend yourself for that. Only that way can you benefit, as I did, from one far more qualified than I am to deliver pearls of writing wisdom. Cliched that may be, but believe me, pearls they were, lustrous, precious and certainly not found in every shell.
It is time to go home to homework, housework and getting these in the right order. This post is part of my homework, whilst the dishes languish in the sink!
Many thanks to Mark and Candida for arranging the course and opening their beautiful home to us, to Claire for feeding us so wonderfully, I can still taste the marmalade polenta cake and, of course, to Diana for sharing her skill and talents with us so generously.
© Netherton Foundry Shropshire 2017
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