I have been in the most beautiful stalactite and stalagmite-hung caves at Kent's cavern in Torbay, reading a story about a visiting Pegaus. Voice projects down the mouth of the caves and towards its dark belly. A fifty thousand year old fossilised skull of a she-bear, is displayed nearby. The room is hushed.
It was like being in a kind of cartoon fairyland, accompanied by the local literati and musicians, for the launch of the Wordquest Devon new writing anthology. I was invited to read from the Storytrail writings, which I helped to edit too.
Here's a link to that great project - here
And well done Sarah Cobley, dynamic and competent project co-ordinator/ manager extraordinaire.
Afterwards, ah, the musicians played in the deep heart of labyrinth caverns. Ancestors stirred. I wandered in breathless awe, listening to the echoes of violin and psychedelic synth echoing to the timeless beat of falling drops onto the cavern floor...It was an epiphany. I want to go back.
But what spoils my troglodyte memories is now this photograph, above, as clad in this essentially many-pullovered form, reading-glasses and scowl, and victim of the cave lighting system, I am cast into what appears to be my grandmother. Or the prehistoric she-bear fossil. Sheesh. Poets can be so vain sometimes.