Bookmarked, Baltic and Bliss!

I'm acutely aware that I've been very remiss in posting any new blogs in recent months. My excuse? I've been up to the eyebrows in book fest. organisation. Last post I mentioned my moment- of- madness decision to seek funding for BOOKMARK, a new book festival to be hosted in Blairgowrie (East Perthshire) with fringe events in Rattray & The Glens. After months of delicate gymnastics (jumping through hoops of fire while tied to restraining hand and foot straps), the executive committee (three mad women) have finally submitted applications and await results with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Meanwhile, we have a draft programme (just mistyped as 'pogromme'!) in place but can't finalise anything until we get the green light from those who hold the purse strings ( in some cases to the point where fingers turn blue!).

But, at risk of completely contradicting myself, it's not been ALL work: there was a short interval of play when I took off from this wintry scene

h

 to some South African sunshine . . .

 

and a little wine from Laurensford Estate . . . 

Been back now for a couple of weeks and, although still recovering from the temperature shift (31 to 4), I've also been enjoying long walks in frosty, blue-skied days. Today's another story! I should have been out there climbing a hill to mark International Women's Day but high winds and driving rain - falling as snow up the glen - sent me scurrying back under the duvet. One's empathy has limits.

On these walks, I've had time to reflect: on the shameful contrast between the comfortable lifestyle of many (but not all) white South Africans and the endemic poverty of so many of their fellow black South Africans, despite heroic efforts (mixed with a liberal helping of corruption) by the ANC government to build new houses and provide clean water and electricity; on the privilege enjoyed by many UK residents and rural Scots, in particular, to roam freely without feeling threatened or compelled to live behind security gates and electric fences; on the sheer joy at being alive and fit (relatively!); on the central importance of writing in my life now that it has been so neglected over the last 6 months.

Five years after publication, I've finally got round to reading Steven Galloway's 'The Cellist of Sarajevo'. 

Coinciding as it did with my trip to South Africa, its reading had a particular resonance. The idea that in the midst of the devastation of war and all its attendant cruelties, beauty can emerge as a powerful instrument of truth and common humanity struck me with powerful relevancy.

So . . . it's time to get right back into that short story which I've been meaning to finish for weeks. Maybe it'll never have an ending but then maybe that will prompt the beginning of a new story. The circles of life are still being drawn.