I went to collect the work not chosen for the Eastern Open today. This is the downside of entering competitive open exhibitions - there is the very real chance of failure. I was lucky. I had at least got one of the three painting I entered into the exhibition, and better than that, they had chosen my personal favourite of the three.
The exhibition will be at the Arts Centre in King's Lynn in Norfolk. We lived nearby for thirteen years. I got married in the beautiful Guildhall and my son was born in the Queen Elizabeth hospital one starry night in 1997, the Hale-Bopp comet hovering overhead.
I'm not sure we have been back to King's Lynn since we had we had our meetings with the solicitor finalising the sale of our lovely house. It will seem very strange to go back after four years. I went to King's Lynn every week for the whole time we lived in Norfolk and yet the thing that comes most readily to mind is my son waddling down the pedestrianised areas not long after he had learned to walk, head down, watching his feet, crashing into passers by and arbitrarily wandering into any shop that took his fancy. It took forever to get anywhere.