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Every word suspect

End of another week of primarily pamphletterie, although not being actually asked to do jury duty was part of it. On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday I dutifully turned up at Kirkcaldy Sheriff Court. On Monday we waited for about an hour, then were sent home. On Tuesday we were there rather longer, while phone calls were made and people came and went. Then we were sent home again. On Wednesday, the thing started to happen after only about 40 minutes. They put all the prospective jurors' names in a glass bowl and select them. Mine wasn't selected. So I came home and did get on with quite a bit of work, thankfully.

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Nearly missed this pamphlet comp...

I just noticed this one. Nearly passed me by, which might be good news to other people thinking of entering. Not as dear as the others, and what an excellent small press! Go for it!

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Summer simmers

I've had a week of not being in college, a week in which the summer has been simmering, the garden burgeoning. It's been amazing. It's July, of course, so submissions have also been trickling in, a couple each day, and I've sat in the conservatory and logged them (hell's bells - I'm now blogging the logging) gently and quietly, listening to birdsong in the garden, admiring the purple clematis soundlessly asserting itself.

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I was late in blogging this week because I shot off to London last Wednesday to the Michael Marks Award ceremony, then back to college for a day, then Barrow-in -Furness to do Poem n Pint reading (more of that separately), then Glasgow Monday for SQA meeting. I can't do this kind of hectic thing. My brain is still spinning.

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At Water Yeat

On Saturday I set off on the train to do a poetry reading in the Lakes. I was staying with Jennifer and Martin Copley. I'd met Jennifer briefly before, and read her Arrowhead book, but I had no idea that what was going to happen could be so . . . well - it all seemed extraordinary to me.

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The longest day

So here we are. Mid-Summer. If you dodge between the raindrops, it's pleasant. Most days it's not too hot to sit in the conservatory, which is where I do a lot of reading and sorting out of poems in my head (not my poems, other people's). We have even got new basketty chairs...

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