A room of one’s own

It’s the end of a very long day.  I’ve spent most of it driving (approx 150 miles on a succession of unfamiliar motorways and by-roads).  And listening to the Jeremy Vine show on Radio 2 (a kind of Post-Election grand finale of winners and losers).  And discovering that we’ve sold our house but lost the bungalow that ticks all our boxes (yup, another win and loss).

But it was good to sit in the afternoon sun with coffee and cake on the beach front at Criccieth:

imageand arrive at Ty Newydd at long last


and climb up to a room of my own at the top of the house (Portmeiron) with a view of the sea in the distance


before exploring the grounds (bumble bees in clover, blue mophead hydrangeas, fuchsia wands dripping with scarlet drop earrings, wind in the sycamores, a gate to a field path, gulls on the thermals, the odd white horse on the sea beyond…)


before meeting Poetry and Dementia course tutors John Killick and Karen Hayes and fellow participants over a leisurely evening meal followed by an introductory session in the first floor lounge (walls lined with poetry shelves, large bow window with a panoramic view).

It’s after midnight and I’m in a state of wakefulness that’s usual for me on the first night in a strange bed.  After posting this, I may browse between the covers of a poetry collection or three I chose from the shelves downstairs…