I’m still in Wakefield: been here in Yorkshire this whole week. At 9.20am this morning I stand in front of an audience of approximately one hundred invited public sector workers as part of the social work works conference. Not the same ones as yesterday. They range from the police to workers in the
As I did yesterday I am introduced onto stage and begin twenty minutes of upbeat talk on my experiences of being a child in care. “Ten children in a children’s home. In the centre is a red button and the words Break Glass”. I leave a pause. “Discuss.”
Outside of the arts I am careful about where I talk of my experience in care. You could say it is exposing but as someone whom in childhood never had a private life it is not at all. Nor is it therapy. I speak as an artist. The event is good but different than yesterday. It takes me at least five hours to get home to
London. It’s good to be back. I stroll in the garden cup of tea in hand and check the horses are well. Shakespeare is fine but Christina has missed me. I throw shakespeare an apple. he does this neat trick. He bounces it off his knee up into the air and catches it in his mouth.