Maybe it's the group name ' Dead Good Poets', maybe it's because it was Halloween, or maybe it was nature's way of telling Shaun not to wear sandals but the beautiful old pavilion at the Winter Gardens was chuffing freezing last night. Poets and storytellers had gathered for the launch of the Haunted Blackpool book, a collection conceived collectively, gestated over a damp squib of a summer by its tireless mother, Mr Standard, and finally forced out into a room filled with the expectant faces of its unlikely procreators: nuns, ghosts, monks, zombies, vampires and a tiny werewolf who came to see what all the fuss was about but sensibly found that books are only half as exciting as chairs which double as seesaws.
More details of the launch will follow tomorrow. Aunty Social, who kindly shared the space at the Pavilion with the DGP, screened two classic films straight after the launch: Nosferatu and Frankenstein. I must admit that I was on my way to the warm embrace of the pub and a pint when I bumped into 2 of my best friends from high school. Within moments we had fallen back into our old patter, giggling in our seats and reminiscing (if that's the right word) about the Halloween that River Phoenix died.
The charms of Nosferatu were lost on me I'm afraid. The iconic creeping scene made me smile but if I'm left wishing Keanu Reeves were there to liven things up it can't be good. I refuse to accept that I'm shallow however because I love anything by Lars von Trier which gets me out of jail indefinitely. Yes it does.
I think it's important to mention the rather lovely 24 year old soldier who saw fit to charm me last night. I'm not boasting you understand (I am so boasting), merely pointing out the poetry that is to be found in the art of chatting someone up. We talked politics and religion, ethics and definitions of freedom. We disagreed on several key issues but agreed that this was good. He lied in the way that a young, confident man will and I savoured the flattery while being mindful that he was closer in age to my daughter than myself.
Which leads me to the wonderful Raven, who is still in Washington following Hurricane Sandy's exploits down the east coast of America. Today she will be helping out with the election, assisting the 'Rock the Vote' team. She has quickly adapted to being stuck over there and I half expect an email telling me that she has found employment and I should feel free to visit her when she has settled in.
I will leave you with the words of my mother's cousin, Patrick, on Raven's situation: 'she is where she is meant to be and the lives of those she meets will be changed by meeting her and she by meeting them.'
