Rather like having a party, the day dawned with a mixture of nerves and excitement. The venue was the spectacular Leeds Library, an eighteenth-century survivor in what often seems like a predominantly Victorian city centre. We arrived early with books to sell, enjoyed the lift which has made the first-floor venue so much more accessible, particularly with our heavy bags.
The day had been punctuated with folk texting in apologies for not being able to attend [all absolutely and completely understood by the way] so I was convinced that actually nobody would come. And then they did.
I experienced a kind of hyper-energy-fuelled brain freeze [as I always do] which causes the names of people I know perfectly well to drop out of my head. David did sterling work selling books from the back of the room which I signed, after checking with the purchaser that I was indeed getting their name right.
When I took to the podium and looked into the audience, it seemed as if I was seeing a mosaic of my life, gym friends, teaching friends, people I had worked with in schools and writing groups, my editor Jo Brandon, friend and illustrator Jacky Fleming. It felt very moving.
I read half a dozen poems, managed to swear once, observed some of my audience following along in their just purchased copies which made me feel like a teacher again in reading lessons, and then very quickly it was over.
I was so full of adrenaline you could have run a small factory from me. How did it go? Not sure, and then a friend came up and said. ‘That was great. You made me cry three times’,
So success. I guess…
