The insuperable past and the indomitable spirit are friends. At first they were suspicious of each other Like a chance meeting of runaways on the quiet street of a deserted city . Now they are inseparable. They listen to each other carefully. They accept each other.

This afternoon we, the insuperable, the indomitable and I, drove through the security checks into the grand stately home of BBC Berkshire for an interview. Berkshire is where my mother came to study at Newbold College, in Bracknell. It’s where she found herself pregnant with me and from where she was packed off to the the North of England, to give birth. In two days it's my birthday.

After the interview I’m driven to Maidenhead to work with a group of young foster children. I’m perpetually awakened at the near spiritual transformation that can occur within a two hour poetry workshop.

Two people cried. They cried because of their work, because of how it touched them. One woman cried because of the poem she had written for her children and one foster carer cried after reading the poem the foster child wrote for her. It's not therapy, it's art where form style and subject matter meet.

Poems are tattoos, each word chosen carefully holds great meaning. But with a tattoo the crying can happen because of the physical pain in the marking of skin. But here the tears appeared from connection and joy and the marking of kin. Inseparable.