London. My Sunday night stay in London was wonderful. I didn’t make it to the museum as I found my room inviting, relaxing and a quiet haven to write in, so I used the time to unwind from my caring role. I took a short walk to purchase lemons for author, Jessica Bell, and a few treats for myself. In the tranquil environment of what equates to being an airline cabin, (cheap, clean, and ideal), I awaited her arrival.
Oh boy, I was not disappointed. What a lovely young woman she is, and we both said it was just as if we had always known each other, there was definitely not a twenty-six year age gap between us. The Internet was just another room and we stepped out of it to enjoy coffee together.
We then walked to meet other authors at a pub/restaurant. We entered, and there to meet us were so many familiar faces it was like a family reunion.
We chatted and drank wine. We ate and chatted. I cannot describe the feeling I had when it occurred to me that it was real, a real writer meet up. Not a conference but a gathering of like-minded friends. I met a few new ones who are just super folk.
Why Blackbird in the title?
When I lived in Cyprus one of the things I missed was the twilight call of a Blackbird. In the UK during Springtime the male calls a magical song as the evening sets in, and I used to enjoy sitting with a glass of wine and listen. Before Alzheimer’s took my father totally he joked and said he would return as a Blackbird so he could sing all day. Right up to the day I said my goodbye to him, my father sang. We sang our favourite song together eight days before he died. His brain held onto music.
Upon our arrival in the UK a Blackbird came to the home and sat on the roof, he sang his heart out. I mentioned it was as if the spirit of my father had embraced my return. The bird has not stopped singing, he sings all day and evening, and now his mate is nest building in the garden. Where am I going with this story? The pub in which I met those wonderful folk in, is named, The Blackbird. Again, I think my father guided Talli’s hand to dial that pub’s number. I am not a sentimentalist but the romantic writer in me has claimed the right to think the Blackbird is my guide in the UK, and my dear old dad sent it. Laugh, I am sure you will but I do not mind, I am content, have new friends, and a pet Blackbird!