An excerpt from my interview with Alan Corkish for the Erbacce journal and the first of the poems they published:
As predicted in the interview, I am now "back at work," not sure, between cooking and poetry, which one is harder.
There is a certain unhealthy kind of gratitude which the working classes are made to feel, which we have to be careful of, simply for the honour of being employed - "Thank you, Sir, for giving me money in return for performing certain tasks and allowing me to be properly involved in the current fiscal tapering."
Equally there is a debt of shame and guilt which we feel if we employ ourselves in the business of Art - far from the rivets of the shipyard and looms of the factory.
Yet I am grateful to be fiscally employed.
For the reasons that, my children can dine on fried chicken twice a week and the fact that my crippling shame and guilt might be stifled both by hard labour in the kitchen and a growing awareness, by merit of the social contact that work requires, that pretty much everyone else, is crazier than I am.