Today was an exercise, despite a caffeine overdose near derailment, in recapturing my voice. Having had a long absence from writing, whether creatively or otherwise, and with any writing being heavily academic based, I was painfully aware that I may have lost my voice, or style, or whatever you may want to call it. I had certainly lost my confidence.
Thankfully, today's excursion into posting most publicly on Facebook revealed that all was not lost. At least, I think not.
A minor, but important, start.
A man has just sculled past on his two seater boaty thing, his 5 year old boy in front and rowing perfectly in time with him. Robby has just paddled past on his stand up board, totally at ease in his meanders. The sky is full of blue and the contrails of passing planes. My hands are cold. I am contemplating a second cup of coffee.
I am on my third cup of coffee, this time at the Underfall yard. I have resisted the homemade cherry bakewell slice since I have only walked half way round the docks. It is beautiful here, the sun shines and deck chairs sway in the breeze. I am contemplating signing up for the rowing boat (gig?) thingy. Rowing is fun. A long time ago I wrote a poem about the ferry boat Emily and the stories she embodies. She looks sadder out of the water, somehow lost and diminished.
My final stop on this amble. I have eschewed a fourth cup of coffee, for there are not enough toilets in the world to accommodate the drinking of another. A lovely morning; many coffees, many steps, many photographs, a surprising number of memories. Contemplation, nostalgia, an intense desire for bakewell slices or bordeaux quay cheese straws. I bought the latter. Obviously.
I am somewhat drunk on caffeine and a profound lack of sleep. I am lightheaded, wobbly and prone to musing. And so the next paragraph is explained.
My final detour (other than a trip into tesco to buy creme fraiche - I know - riveting!) was the Emotional Archaeology exhibition by Daphne Wright at the Arnolfini. Sculpture, for me, is as much about about the topology of the space left behind as it is about the intrusion into that emotional and physical space. This exhibition works - I was enchanted, although left a little nonplussed by the sketched portraits.
Now, in the spirit of the British obsession with three course meals, I am about to have a bordeaux quay cheese straw, a bowl of adobo and rice, and apple crumble with creme fraiche. And, almost definitely, a nap.