From Bangor

An eight hour train journey in three stages, the weather moving from sunny ever darker and charcoal coloured, the sea suddenly opening up on one side and mountains on the other. Not knowing which to prefer I swivel now this way now the other, till arrival in Bangor when a really squally temper gets the better of the day and decides to turn my umbrella inside out. No taxi in the rank, then finally a taxi. Half a mile as it happens.

At 5 a discussion headed by Ian Gregson. Carol Rumens in the audience. I talk on as I tend to do when given a question to climb inside, then one or two questions and we go for a Chinese with fellow writer and tutor, Phil and Carol.

Back in time for the reading at the Management Centre. Surprisingly enough some 100 people, mostly students arrive. Denni and Anne from earlier course are present. Lovely to see them. Zoe Skoulding says hello, then 25 minutes, followed by 15 minutes break and 20 minutes more. I read chronologically and thematically. Hearty applause and books for signing. Ian and Zoe stay behind for a drink.

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings - ideally a long way from home - are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes. I couldn't possibly pretend that back home, not easily anyway.

Meanwhile back in hospital C's mother slightly improved and stable. Who knows what next? Life is a dogged flickering thing at times.