Cast down by unease after the referendum result, we are kept afloat by a warm audience at Oswestry, a great guest and the beauty of poetry and music
Friday: Imtiaz Dharker
I wake in the same bed, expelled to another country overnight. The television is still on, shark faces swimming up to the screen to eye the shipwreck. Even those of us who never eat breakfast come down to huddle together and feed on each other’s fury and sorrow. Our children send us disbelieving text messages. Clouds slump on the horizon and as we leave Wales, the rain begins. On the bus today there are no games, no playing with language. No-one is singing.
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