I became a Godmother recently and began teaching a Creative Writing Class, hence the completely over the top Blog Post title. My husband actually suggested I call myself a Creative Writing Guru. I just giggled. For some reason the word Guru conjurs up visions of a floaty, pashmina clad me.
When I was 12 years old a Harvest Festival meant a meagre scraping together of tangerines, potatoes and a tin of beans. Items would be deposited at the front of the school hall by each bewildered child, wondering why they had to part with their lunch. Many years later Waterford has shown me exactly what a Harvest Festival should mean.