We had a splendid night at the Black Cat yesterday evening. If you haven’t read any of my rambling about similar nights, and if you can’t guess, The Black Cat is a really splendid pub in Weston-super-Mare. It always has a fine selection of guest beers, and I was excited to see it had a brew on offer with a similar name to mine – sadly they had run out of it. Oh, well, that’s what comes of being popular. As well as being an excellent pub, once a month it is the venue for story night. Although it is chiefly our writing group, Writers in Stone, and between us we host it, everyone with a story to tell is very welcome.
I had my personal chauffeur (aka husband) take me and Fenja Hill to the Black Cat and we met up with, several others from the group. we were greeted, pint in hand, by crime writer and poisons expert, Brian Price, writer and poet Macaque aka Hamish MacNeil, writing friends Jane and brilliant poet husband Jim, group members Peter, Rebecca and friend, and several other writing persons. I was delighted to see one of the pub quizzers joining us, and we had a quick exchange of news and general catch-up.
The stories were very varied, from cheese to ghosts, horror to a wander beneath trees, and more. I shared a true story about my dad’s friendship with an elderly man in a care home who was connected to our cousins, and a mix-up with my dad’s identity, thinking he was a famous professor. It was a comical story when it happened, but I’m not so sure my
efforts to retell it were as funny! It was such a wonderful evening, and my pub quiz friend gave me a lift home.
Today, I’ve not done much writing so far – housework and chores instead, and this evening I’m getting together with my reading group chums to discuss “Thunderclap” by Laura Cumming about Carel Fabritius, the Dutch painter, who was killed in a ghastly accident in 1654 when he was only 32. I’m very interested in art, and we were in Amsterdam recently where he died so tragically. I wasn’t able to see any of his work, although as I mentioned recently, I did see some magnificent art in the Stedelijk Museum. I also love the Netherlands, where a dear friend lives, so I was prepared to love the book.
I’m pretty sure you’ve already guessed that there is a “but…” coming. Yes, indeed… but I didn’t enjoy it and in fact really struggled with it. I felt I was ploughing through it instead of flying. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I read some books? I wish I knew, and I’m sure my book club friends wish that even more that I did! I read a lot of non-fiction and factual books, I read poetry, I read biographies and autobiographies, I read memoirs, and of course I read a lot of fiction. It’s a mystery.
Whatever – we will have a lovely evening, and no doubt spend much of the time catching up with each other and our news and adventures!
Lois Elsden 