Two Rolled Up Balls of Foil Wrapping - Christopher Sanderson - Bog

The notebook and pen were bought in a hardware shop, not far from the Royal Oak in Heckington. I had mistakenly left my usual writing stuff at home, so, with an hour at least to spare, I had to find the means to write.
The PA to the family at Revesby Estate asked me recently what kind of poetry do I write. Thinking of this particular notebook I replied: well often it is observational, that's the measure of it I think.
The hour turned into almost two. But I did have black Americano on tap so to speak, and no shortage of observances to observe. Almost like a main line train-spotter in point of fact.
There is sadness and escapism in the book. It is written during the ending of a sixteen-year relationship. We are trying to remain good friends, although stress cannot be avoided.
A September vacation, though not an Indian Summer, added to the vocation of the work. This included a voyage to the Scilly Isles whose temperate climate is a treasure to behold.
This in sharp contrast to the absolute drenching we received while watching A Room With A View at the Minack Theatre. Then on to Shaldon to meet up and celebrate with our Teignmouth shoreline-cocktail friends.
The pen ran out of ink before I had finished writing in the book, partly because, having completed the forwards direction I turned the book around to write in reverse order
That said I do believe that it will make two books, now that I have almost ended the moving forwards part. Also the middle and end of October brings along extra poignant foci into my life.