15th August – Poetic Nerves

The poetry evening happened, and I sat gripping my notebook so tightly I thought I’d smudge the ink clean off the page. When my turn came, I read my monologue about mud, rain, and the persistence of slugs.

To my surprise, people chuckled in the right places, and there was even a ripple of applause at the end. Maureen followed with something about roses and lips, which made me blush so deeply I had to hide behind my teacup.

Mr Bletchley nodded off halfway through someone else’s recitation, but in fairness he had been snoring in rhythm, which almost counted as verse.