Creative

“Go to the lookout. Ring the bells when they’re near the castle. I’ll prepare for battle.”

What a joy it can be, to wrench open your mind and find yourself inhabiting a song. To live out a thousand lives, to know the intimacy of a stranger, and experience nostalgia in such a visceral way for times and places you’ve never been to.

I hope you all have a place that you can feel your strength from. I wish I had more of these than I do, now he’s gone. Make most of your time people, inside or out – our lives are too short to waste. Find your Happy Place.

It’s 10am, I am at work deciding if I need coffee to get the jitters, a piece of fruit for some sugary glucose or a peanut butter and jam sandwich.

Maybe the title for this competition should be OUR Happy Place rather than MY Happy Place. As I think it is more about how we approach a place together that determines if we are going to be happy or not.

My experience of entering gaol was hazy and blurry. A brick, as they say, is a 10 year term of imprisonment, and getting outta my mind was on my list of things to do, not realising that I would find my true happy place in nature.

Within that club of egos, I had found a friend. He talked to me of glory and made me want to join. So I sent a few gold coins and received a nonsense letter. I must be a member! In a group of names, I am the unclean one, the token unpublished poet; there always must be one.

The straps of his back-pack chaffed and pulled against his shoulders, the weight of each uneven step threatening to topple him back down the slope. His boots crunched the tiny pebbles that slided and slid, plumes of dust flicking into the still air.

Two words, one name. I was stunned. Gathering my thoughts, I started the mental checklist. Had I pressed the wrong button? No. Was it a stranger answering? No. It was definitely my son, a changed son.

Everyone needs their own happy place. Especially in here. Somewhere to escape the drama and politics of the yard.