on my return

I've just been away - away from the mainland, and from the 21st century. I do that sometimes.

And yet one thing that happened right at the end of my holiday quite changed my view of how it had gone. I'd taken my new toy - a digital camera - and I'd taken a number of photos: some serious, some just as a record of what I'd seen, some in fun as the performers relaxed. And I'd enjoyed doing it and getting the warmth as others saw and enjoyed what I'd taken.

And what blew it apart was when, on the last day, I thought I'd lost my camera. The camera itself is, of course, replaceable. But the photos aren't; nor was my rediscovered reputation and popularity as someone who took good photos. So I spent the last night somewhat upset - actually really pissed off and trying to adjust to the new reality of the loss.

So it came as a considerable relief the next day when our props and costume lady responded to my question about the camera by picking it up off a shelf and returning it to me - she'd found it and put it safe till someone claimed it. Hurray!

And then I drove back to London with the director of the event, and listened as he fielded phone calls - first from a reporter on the local paper, and then from the venue owner. And I was able to provide him with the name and number of one of our participants who would be able to step in and sort out a problem; a nice feeling and done without ceremony.

But what of the poetry, you ask? I didn't write a single word, nor do a single drawing. It'll come.

Simon