It has taken me a while to come to terms with events of Saturday before last, when we caught the cross-country bus service to Oxford (aka "the other place") for a meeting of the Sylvia Townsend Warner Society. It wasn't just the traumatic loss of my favourite crochet hook. It was also the fear of talking to those amongst my fellow Warner enthusiasts who didn't know that I've given up on my PhD thesis on her. I don't mind telling people, nor do I mind their reactions (which range from sympathy to congratulations!), but I still stumble over the inevitable follow-on question: "so what are you doing now, then?" Watch those jaws drop as I reveal that "I work part-time in a small shop to fund my craft activities". I'd love to say "I'm an artist, working in textiles" but I'm not sure I deserve that label, hey ho.
"But surely you're still writing?" Well, yes I am, but I don't think that this blog is quite what is meant...
Despite all this ego-wobbling trauma I did have a great time. Lunch with friends I'd not seen for a couple of years; a concert of pieces composed by STW and of pieces by other composers who had set her words to music; then Graham and I headed off to a pub...
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