So, tomorrow is my first gig as poet in residence at Barracks Lane.  I feel I’ve not been as open about the process of writing as I could have been, being very happy to show the initial free-writes, but less willing to show the awkward slog of getting the stuff down, editing it, cutting out the horrific lines… So, here are some of the outtakes – the god awful bits that compromise my dignity and self-respect.

Do you smoke, he asked, running a hand through his hair
And his dogs cantered about his legs sniffing and yelping
In the simple joy that only dogs have.

At some point you must look up away
from the book lying fascinating on your lap
And notice, just notice, the profound
surface of your eye, the surface of your
skin, the surface of your lips
And the vacuity of solar light.

Oh it’s important
But I wish it were less so.

The water runs off the leaves
That hang over the balcony.
And drip!
Drip drip.
Drop!

Last week I met Annie who is one of the trustees at Barracks Lane, and her husband John. They live right beside the site and were involved in the process of turning the place from a derelict concrete patch in to a community garden. Alan, who helped me move from London to Oxford, took me for a mini tour that was impeded by a brief thunderstorm.