Another Place

Where have I been for the last month - zooming round Manchester on the Metro?

Well, today we had a little trip to the coast just north of Liverpool, starting at Southport, home turf of poet Jean Sprackland, whose poem The Birkdale Nightingale is set in the wild dunes outside the town.
Then on to Crosby beach to see Antony Gormley's installation that I've wanted to visit for ages.
Make no mistake (signage emphasises) this is not a swimming beach. Proceed at your own risk

So, suitably cautioned, we advanced, stepping over the usual beach objects...

and the incredibly large...

to the main attractions...

intriguing...

some customised by visitors...

compelling...

moving...

haunting...

Then on, for a prize-winning ice cream at Parkgate, Wirral, former seaside town where the tide went out

Thrills and Spills

Not long back from Salford Quays where we swam two circuits of the 400m course. Their opening swim of the season!  13.5C - so a bit nippy to start, but tingling when we warmed up and fantastic to be back in the docks again.

Monday at Gaddings was also great, swam 750m, the last 10 minutes or so without a wetsuit, phew it certainly makes a difference.

And speaking of wetsuits.....I am just getting over the fact that my obliging husband cut it with his nail helping me on with it.....before it even touched the water.....my bad humour took till Wednesday to lift. In my fury I reminded him of this Jean Sprackland poem which I introduced him to after some similar outrage a while back

The Apprentice

I married a man with clumsy hands

whose touch left me fingerprinted with bruises.

I had to keep him from my bed

till he learned some delicacy.

I wanted him dextrous

so I trained him on nimble tasks. First time

hanging out washing, he snapped a dozen pegs,

let underwear fall in the wet grass.

Then I had him sowing lettuces,

pricking out the seedlings, growing them on.

He was close to tears with the smallness of the work.

I schooled him in needle and thread,

a hard apprenticeship in gentleness.

He fumbled the button, knocked the licked end of thread

against the stubborn eye of the needle,

stabbed his fingertip. Blood on his white shirt.

One night, after dinner, the final test:

unfastening my silver necklace.

When I felt those skilful fingers

lift my hair and charm the tiny clasp apart,

I stood astonished, sheened in desire. I turned

and took his hands, set them free.

Jean Sprackland

from Hard Water (Cape Poetry)

Harrumph. But a wonderful poem - and a great collection.

Wandering Lonely as Clouds

Helm Crag - The Lion and The Lamb

Jean Sprackland's poetry workshop today in Grasmere was wonderful. I find classes like this more than a wee bit scary, but as she is such an inspiring and encouraging tutor, I felt challenged yet safe enough to come away with some very satisfying work - considerably more than the foundations for at least three poems, and some good ideas for sustaining and encouraging the creative process - thank you Jean! 

This evening we had a pre-booked cinema deal at Zeffirellis in Ambleside - a two course meal in the very classy restaurant, followed by a film in a charming retro cinema - all for £17.95 each. The film we watched was An Education - back at Zeffirellis by popular demand - a great end to an exciting day.

Grasmere (Lake) continues to be iced over, there are some ice-free patches in Rydal Water, but hey! Spring is round the corner (I've spotted several lambs in the fields) and we'll just have to come back for another weekend that is dedicated to swimming rather than poetry!

Off the Hook

Isn't technology great?!! (to paraphrase The Fast Show). I am in Grasmere, with my laptop, posting as if I was tucked up at home! 

Tomorrow I am going to a poetry workshop with the poet Jean Sprackland. We are making a weekend of it and having a couple of nights in one of our favourite parts of the world. Our cosy little B&B is in the shadow of the Lion and the Lamb, currently dusted with snow and occasionally obscured by strands of mist.

For the past two weeks I have been wrestling with the idea of whether we should/shouldn't have a dip in Rydal Water or Grasmere while we are here. Brrr...it has been so cold of late!! This morning I said - let's not take the wetsuits. There was no protest whatsoever!

Windermere looked as beautiful and tranquil as ever as we drove past. (Photo above is from last October). Rydalwater and Grasmere were both covered in a layer of ice. So I don't need to feel guilty about not being brave enough to take the plunge.....on this occasion. Phew!!