Evidence that Fran apologises - eventually

I’ve been working on this poem about my schooldays that I wrote a while back. One or two of you may recall it. It’s one I’ve performed several times on stage but I knew it needed improvement. As any poets reading this will know, a poem that works on the stage doesn’t always translate to the page, and vice versa.

Still, it’s been fun to work on.

A letter of apology to my Games teacher

Dear Mrs White, I’m writing to apologise and say
I hope it wasn’t my fault that you ended up this way.
I trust you don’t blame me that you’ll never be let out -
trapped in that cell and straitjacket, foaming at the mouth.

I joined your class in ’76 and saw you purse your lips
as you opened up your register and saw me on the list.
Unfortunately, you had met me several times already,
hiding in the gym, snogging Jake. Then Tom. Then Freddy.

You made us do ‘cross country’.  You said it would be fun.
I didn’t much like moving let alone being made to run.
If we didn’t do it fast enough – in heat, in fog, in rain -
You’d yell and scream and send us off to do it all again. 

Once, we got a ride back in a truck with Mary’s dad.
Your face! as fifteen schoolgirls tumbled from his cab!  
But mostly we took short cuts even though they were a risk, 
like the day we took the short cut down the new A46.  

It wasn’t always I who got us lost and made us late. 
They threw me out of Guides and I still can't navigate. 
I’m sorry that you had to stay at school for hours that day
while the police found me and Brenda in a wood ten miles away.

I hope I’m not the reason that your hands are all a-quiver
as you think back to that day we took the route beside the river.
I didn’t know that Kathy Price hadn’t learned to swim.
If she hadn’t called me Fatface, I wouldn’t have pushed her in.  

Well, Mrs White, you tried, but you failed to convince.
I hated running then and I haven’t moved much since.
But I hope you don’t blame me that you’re in this tragic fix,
locked in a room, and dribbling, since 1976.

Inside Fran’s Diary

I thought things were quietening down after the launch of ‘Home Bird’ but, er …

On Thursday 10 April, I’m going to support fellow author Abigail Johnson, as she launches her debut novel ‘The Secret Collector’ at Kenilworth Books The more I hear about this story, the more I can’t wait for my pre-ordered copy to drop onto the doormat.

On Saturday 12 April, it’s our regular meeting of the West Midlands contingent of the Association of Christian Writers and I’m leading a workshop about writing humour with the help of another member, Jamie Robinson. On Jamie’s blog, he writes funny satirical short stories set in an imagined village called Lower Strangling. This is one of my favourites, all about a literary festival. It’s safe to say that the festival doesn’t quite go to plan. Check him out!

On Saturday 26 April I’m heading to Chippenham, Wiltshire, to share lunch with a very special book club and talk about ‘Cuckoo in the Nest’. One of the book club’s members is Bookaholic Bex. Bex is a fabulous and famous book blogger and has been uber-supportive of both ‘Cuckoo in the Nest’ and ‘Home Bird’. If I manage to get on the right train, going to the right place, in the right direction, it should be a really fun trip.

Sunday 27 April is my birthday. Sunday 27 April is my birthday. Sunday 27 April is my birthday. Sunday 27 April is my birthday.

Finally, for April, everyone’s welcome to this ‘Home Bird’ event hosted by the lovely people at Warwick Books. It’s on Tuesday 29 April and details are right here Please come along, and even better if you’ve read the book by then and have QUESTIONS!

Did I mention that Sunday 27 Ap - oops, so I did.