Last night in Lewes, UK, there was a chill in the air and, or so I’m told,  snow on the outskirts, but it was warm enough in the Lewes Arms, my local pub, when it hosted the 7th anniversary of Lewes Poetry and showcased some of the poets who have read there over the years. I was glad to be invited back as I have happy memories of the first time I read there as, six years go,  it was the venue for my very first poetry reading as I described in yesterday’s blog.

There was a good turnout considering we, the South-East English, are known to make an unnecessary fuss if the January temperatures sink anywhere lower than warm. The success of Lewes Poetry, and the reason why so many people risked less than mild temperatures, belongs to its host and creator, the wonderfully chaotic Ollie Wilson, poet and compere at these suitably anarchic events where ‘stage’ poets share the stage with ‘page’ poets and everyone gets along just fine. I read some of my recent re-writes of my first poems which all dated from 2009 and this seemed a suitable anniversary for their first public reading. I had been nervous about tinkering with poems that had already been published and, possibly, set in stone, but they seemed to go down well, people clapped, laughed and were silent in all the right places,  and I left feeling that those rewrites of early poems still had something to say, but now had much stronger legs, considering that they written when I didn’t really know what I was doing.

Outside, as you can see in the photos below, if they weren’t at the Lewes Arms,  or some other local hostelry, Lewesians were all snuggled up at home. Well, you don’t want to catch cold on a chilly January night.

When Lewes is busy, it is very, very busy, but when it is quiet, it’s deserted.

It is a real pleasure wandering outside on a night like this when the streets, or so it seems, belong to me.

I always feel a bit stranger than usual after performing my poetry – it’s an exposing experience where hidden parts of myself have a brief public airing, and, afterwards, I need to take time to return to what, I guess, is ‘normal’.

On nights such as these, there’s nothing better than a solitary walk in the middle of town, especially when it is as pretty as Lewes.

If you’re interested in Lewes Poetry, here’s the link:
http://lewespoetry.blogspot.co.uk/

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My little garret writing room is bathed in sunshine this fine January morning here in Lewes, UK. Me and my Bonsai tree aren’t sure if it’s summer of Winter in here and, if it wasn’t that it’s too easy to turn into a weird eccentric when you spend too much time working at home on your own, I’d be tempted to change into Bermuda shorts and sunglasses but it’s good enough to feel the sun on my face as I sit here squinting at my trusty computer screen.

Looking out of the window, I see that my neighbour’s almond tree is in blossom and, as usual round here, that plucky little tree is the first herald of life in the middle of Winter.

The sunshine and almond blossom are enough to lift my spirits when the international news talks of snow blizzards and preposterously low temperatures. I suspect it will end up getting cold here again but, for now,  I’m happy to bask in the spirit of this false Spring.

Out in my garden, I too have some heralds of Spring – snowdrops are always in the vanguard of those flowers that defy reason to bloom in the most inhospitable of times and mine return with a smile every January.

My primroses too, unexpectedly brighten the darkest corner of my garden with their radiant but tasteful shades of pale yellow. These have been flowering since before Christmas even though they are not supposed to open their petals for at least another couple of months.

That’s enough gazing out of the window, back to work.

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So no snow ploughs here in Lewes, UK, this morning,  and no snowmen either. It’s pretty though, our smattering of snow. Here in South-East England, so far, we’ve been climate lucky and I’m not complaining. Even other parts of East Sussex have more snow that we do here in Lewes.

My small urban garden doesn’t mind the snow. A bit of cold is good for it. It kills off some of those bugs and diseases and toughens up the plants that survive.

More snow may come our way but I won’t be panicking – my snow shovel hasn’t been used for two years and recent winters have been so mild that some of my annual plants have refused to die and have rather outlived their welcome.

It’s never so wintery in my January garden that there isn’t always a hopeful sign of new life.

My snowdrops look fine in the snow as does my first camellia bloom.  So no complaints around here. I may, of course, have to eat my words but, it is January and it’s supposed to be cold.

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