Windhoek, Bexley, Coimbra.
Thursday, October 29, 2009, 10:20 PM
If I don’t post this now, incomplete and scrappy, I might not ever.



So, Namibia, sweet, cooling warmth.

Left my passport at the airport in Windhoek. So tired.
On the plane from Johannesburg to Windhoek, a man from Torino gave me a postcard of the Palazzo Madama?.
Seems like a thousand years since I was in Northern Italy. Everything is hot.
Barely keep my eyes open to see the jacaranda trees, on the drive to the place I’m staying. it’s spring here, an impossibly joyous burst of colour on the landscape, dancing somewhere between powder blue and lavender with the frequency of pink. And sad too, but maybe that’s the Guerlain L’Heure Bleu which I’d sprayed on at Duty Free in Heathrow.




Horizontal planes of the thorn trees, smell of rain in the wind, coarse shocked ochre of the earth.

Beef jerky, perfumed with herbs that still scent the blood of the animal; this flesh was once warm and noisy, curious, hungry, liquid-eyed.

Ronnie, Steve, Ricardo, Shane who dropped off my passport, waiting at reception for 20 minutes to put it in my hand, even though he was in a hurry, the courteousness of people, the committed, polite aggression of the women on the immigration desks, the discussion of race, identity and culture, ‘tell me, is this a racist joke’, Blessing, gentle and calm, people tell me I’m not a typical Zulu, Zulus are agreessive, dominating, players, meat-eaters – well, he is a meat-eater.

The empty roads, new. Women on the roads, hitching to get back to the villages. I miss my kids.





The UNAM conference – the last minute addition of the choir – I had to close off my heart because I was too shy to weep at the joy of their voices, accapella, in the air craft hangar of the hall, twenty young women, unself-consciously radiant and six or so slighty bashful, slightly proud young men, beautiful.. The dance troupe, with Doris, the Zulu drummer, braided hair in a thick mane down to her thighs, sixteen or so girls of between eight and twelve, all in yellow costumes, puff sleeved tops that revealed stomachs lean as baby sparrows, flounced skirts with shorts underneath, the dances, the shapes they threw, the control and abandon, the fingers flung into leaves and the torsos twisting like rolling dunes, the aliveness.

Afterwards I went to work with the Orphans and Vulnerable Children and they requested the Fluffy song they had heard at the conference.

And at the conference, when it was time for my talk, blood was boiling from the aggressive negativity and holier-than-thouness of the keynote speaker, some elegant Afrikaans lady who was discreetly sniping at the teaching of English in schools, I talked about how I love the English language, a language you can mess with, how I did not speak my mother tongue and for that I had been sad and ashamed, but I did speak English which enabled me to speak the language of scientists and to travel the world and communicate with so many of its people and that the city I called home was home to 300 langages and that in London schools many people spoke English as a third language and that the UK had been colonized by the Vikings and the Romans and the French, all of which are in the language and now how words and ideas from former colonies are changing the language again.

We went back after I danced with the Orphans and the Afrikaans lady was still going on, interminable, having over-run by an hour and the whole conference was a slo-mo buckling car crash of a scheduling disaster. M the organizer was grumpy and suggested I do my performance at 7am the next morning instead of at 4pm as planned and I refused and then sat down and gave her a hug and she softened, slowly and in parts like butter, but to be fair, it was quite a lot on her watch since the choir and the dancers were her last minute addition, joyous nd life-changing to me though they were.






The Omupandi School, the children, the shy girls, the laughter when we did the warm-up sessions, the perfect miraculous poems that came out at the end.

Driving from Oshikati back to Windhoek with Richard Finch, ex-deputy head of a South London comp, theatre impressario, no stranger to misfortune and tragedy, one of the happiest people I’ve ever met, extraordinary Richard Finch, who told stories all the 12 hour journey, travellers tales to out-amaze the elephants, zebras, jackals, vultures, impalas, springbok, warthog, giraffe we saw in Etosha National Park.






Rainy season was just beginning. Saw some cool lightning.

The poets who I performed with at Paul’s Place. Really great. I hope Lemn Sissay does go out there in April. There were hopeful mentions. Lemn? I hope you can go. There are poets out there waiting to meet you.

Pictures of Mat Fraser’s handsomeness up at Paul’s Place, cafes, the British Council, people talking about his visit, they can’t help smiling, it was a good one.

On the way back to the airport, a baboon, sifting through the strip of greener grass by the side of the road.






I'm in Welling Youth Centre this week, with MArk Force from Bugz in the Attic, working with a group of kids, me lyrics, him sounds, to make their own tracks.

It's an Arts Award pilot scheme and it's not had a big take-up, only 7 or so young people signed on for it and Zena Edwards and Jim Cole, from Rolling Sound, are also in the building.

I hope the Arts Council continue it because the songs those kids have made are proper GOOD. Really really good. But maybe (surely) if there had been 40 13 -19 year olds like there were meant to be, we wouldn't have had the time and space to produce such fine work.

Off to Portugal tomorrow to see my friend Fitch O’Connell and talk about BritLit with Sinead Russell and a conference of teachers. Apparently, I’m to do the Fluffy Song in tandem with a simultaneous Second Life avatar of me doing the Fluffy Song.
Cool beans. Love, x


Come to Heptonstall in November?
Friday, October 9, 2009, 10:04 AM

SPIN on Saturday
Friday, October 9, 2009, 09:57 AM


Join Apples & Snakes word wizards in this exciting and interactive show, as they cook up new ways to play with words and show just what you can do with them.

Each show includes top-class rappers, poets and storytellers bringing their own distinctive style and have your kids fired up by poetry.

Featuring : Charlie Dark, Francesca Beard & Sally Pomme Clayton

"The children and I absolutely loved the show. It brought poetry alive and kicked it into the 21st Century!" Slavka Jovanovic, Children's Theatre Programmer.
Suitable for 4-8 years.

Bookings: www.rbkc.gov.uk/acrossthestreet



Apples and Snakes gig at Guy's on National Poetry Day
Wednesday, October 7, 2009, 12:48 PM


Join poets Jean 'Binta Breeze, Francesca Beard and Simon Mole to celebrate National Poetry Day.

http://www.applesandsnakes.org/events.php

Bookings: 020 718 81215


Breaking News/Picture Caption Competition
Thursday, September 17, 2009, 02:59 PM

1. There are £10,000 worth of bees in that wooden box.

2. At least one of the people in that picture is a doofus. FACT

3. One of the people in that picture invented a barbecue sword, you can google it.

4. I am in the middle of a Grants For The Arts application.




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