Not only that, it’s Sunday: my least favourite day of the week. I’ve been rescued by being on an online writing weekend with fellow poets most of whom I know. So here is a short warm-up for you. You can use it as a prompt. What mode of transport were you afraid of? What presents have you given that were returned in some way?

My father died in 1990, my mother in 2008. That penny farthing now stands on top of a bookcase here in my flat.

Before 11am I am not human

I’m blue like old potato sky. I was afraid of penny-farthings and of men with tall cylinder hats. My own hands are on a photo, making a gift of a miniature penny-farthing to my parents, an anniversary party.