Going Back

They say you should never go back.  They also say you can never be too rich, or too thin. And, something else they say, is that you should never explain, and never apologise.
 
Well, whoever they are, they are quite wrong about the first, and therefore probably wrong about all the other things ‘they’ say. Because yesterday evening I went back.  I went back to a place where I used to work six or seven years ago in Kirklees in West Yorkshire.
 
I was in Meltham where I had set up a reading group in the library in about 1999; it had started off as a small and vital bunch of people who met regularly to discuss books and reading, and, in the intervening time, has expanded and grown into a large and thriving group.  And sitting around the table, in the town hall, were many familiar faces from my work in Kirklees, not just in Meltham.  Organised by Reading Development Officer Sarah Jackson, I had been asked to read from my poetry and my prose.
 
The  time flew by, and just as when you haven’t seen old friends for a time, you adjust to any changes in them (which in this group were imperceptible) I had a feeling that my audience had adjusted to any changes in me, and were listening to me as a writer and poet, rather than that bloke who got them to talk about the books they were reading.
 
It was great fun.  We chatted a lot, caught up where we had left off, drank copious amounts of tea, ate mince pies, and had a fabulous time.
 
And I sold loads of books.