took the next train home.
So long! Good riddance Boatswain’s Clench!
And hello – what – Ava?
But here’s the crazy thing –
I waited for the telling-off, the blacklisting
by The Trust for vanishing,
it never came.
He didn’t email me again until my time was up.
A brief message just saying that he hoped it had
been good – productive – and how wonderful it was to
see how dedicated I’d become that final fortnight.
I thought, well, just wait until you find her,
but then they posted a photo of my double with the
caption:
We love it when our emerging artists leave us work!
Self Portrait by —
And just like that, Ava, other trusts,
foundations, fancy houses, fancy gardens, small
museums and galleries began to get in touch.
That’s how it works, you know –
trustees take the word of other trustees who pass you
onto friends of friends and then before you know it
you’re on this circuit – being handed round from place to
place,
and oh – the places that I stayed, Ava!
The storied rooms, the dark four-posters, the
Tudor chairs, the witch marks scratched into the beams!
Manor houses that once belonged to writers,
artists, radical gardeners;
deer parks favoured by long-dead kings;
the site of a Saxon hall;
a graveyard;
a lake house
a former monastery…
soft morning light, wrought iron, my bare
feet on a lawn at night, and owls, Ava,
the owls!
My sincere thanks to my dear patrons for the owls I heard
and saw.
And in return for art, I got a room, access to
