I wake at 6am and make it to Euston Station for 9am then a
train to Derby. I’m early to check into the Hallmark Hotel but eventually get a
room.  I  change rooms from the one offered.   I like
choice.  I put the plastic key fob in the
slot and enter. To my total surprise an old irish gentlemen is changing his tie
in the mirror. I apologise in a sort of Woody Allen way and back step out of
the room. And hunched in embaressment  close
the door. I return to reception fuming but keeping it under my hat.  Eventually with no apology from the person
who made the mistake I get a new key to another room.

The Hallmark Hotel, just outside the train station used to
be The  Midland n the heyday of train
travel.   I change and descend to
reception. A n old gentlemen walks slowly and gently  by with a walking frame.  It is the impeccably dressed man who was
changing his tie in the mirror. He didn’t notice me as he was concentrating on
his walking frame,  but I stopped and
apologised profusely once again, think woody allen,  and explained the inadequacy of service.  He looked at me and it took a while for him to
lift his head  and said “are you okay
though”  It stopped me in my tracks. I
didn’t know what to say. He continued.  “you got your room then?”  still stunned “ummm yes” I replied  “well that’s okay then” he said and smiled.  All he did was care that I was ok. 

The taxi rank is directly outside the hotel.  As I have lost the details of the venue  but know the name of the place and the street
though not the number,  between us, the
driver and I work out where it is. At 2pm 
I arrive at The Voice Box and deliver a workshop that leaves all
participants including myself excited invigorated and enlivened. Even if those
three descriptive terms mean the same thing it is difficult  to find the language to define the event  only words that can skirt around the force  of a workshop which was an anti-workshop that
made everyone feel that it was the ultimate workshop. There it is. Language
does it in the end.  Bingo.  I then got a lift back to  the hotel. 6pm. A steak sandwich with gorgeous
bread and a check of email later and…

Back in another taxi…. 
At 8pm I arrive at  The Big Blue
Coffee company on Sadler gate, for the second half of my  commitments here in Derby:   The
performance.  I want to paint the
picture. The Big Blue Coffee Company is on the most lively  beer drinking pedestrianised alleyway  in Derby. Each second building is a public
house. Across from the coffee please is ironically The Shakespeare.

 It is Saturday night
and the street is full to bursting with drunk  people. I am so thankful
that I don’t drink anymore. And though I am no better than them I must keep my
wits about me as my mere colour draws attention and  what with people losing their inhibitions I
could be challenged on either my manhood or my masculinity at any given moment.
 I clutch my manhood and try not to be
masculine. The smiling asian taxi driver drops me off at the top of the street “it’s
down there he says”. I look into the sea of drunk people and all I can think is Shaun
of The dead and  Zombies.

I arrive at the  cafe
an oasis in a desert of drink  and it to
me is the perfect gig. Why can’t there be more events like this in the centre
of town where all the bars are on a Saturday night.   

Someone whispers to me outside before I enter  “hey lemn Jean Binta Breeze” is here. Jean
Binta Breeze is one of the most famous living poets of the Caribbean and an old
and cherished friend.. She is dreadlocked  and beautiful.  Jean lives in Leicester now, has returned from
Jamaica for summer  in England.  Wise woman.  We have been together in different parts of
the world, performing our poems for many a year. More importantly she was there
helping me at the beginnings of my career. 
It is like meeting an older and wiser sister. The event is long, there’s
a short film shown, singers and poets and all,  but it’s good hearted.  Finally I am introduced on stage. The cafe is
packed.  By now the audience is full of
both poetry fans and Saturday night revellers who saw it through the big glass
window – the joint is packed. The lighting is atrocious and the sound is not
too good –  It’s a beautiful beautiful
reading. Laughter and tears in the same breath.

I walk out to run the gauntlet of The Street to catch a cab
at the top. Smiling it is the same taxi driver as earlier… It’s an impossible
coincidence that I can’t ignore and a great ice breaker. We laugh. He speaks
terrible English so our conversation is kept in  context. We speak about the drinkers I hear
about five  syllables of the cheery man  “…all over my cab” and then the universal
language of laughter.  As the cab pulled
up at the hotel the taxi driver says to me “you. You are a good man.” I slipped
the knife back into my pocket and smiled.