The taxi through the village centre was like a postcard. Huge Elizabethan cottages with thatched roofs; a quaint 12th century church; Narnian lampposts and so many gardens full of foxgloves and lavender.
However, having grown up in a council estate in an ex-mining town in Newcastle, this is also more out of my comfort zone than anywhere else I can possibly think of. The very concept of knocking on doors here has set my heart pounding. I take a deep breath and step into the huge gravelled courtyard.
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On the right is a 17th century manor- tall red brick chimneys, the walls completely covered in thick green ivy, the windows leaded in a crisscross pattern. I spot an old oak door and walk over to it. I tap on a knocker and start counting to 45 in my head. This time, I make out the faint sound of dogs barking, followed by the crunch of quick footsteps on the gravel behind me.
A middle-aged lady in an orange cardigan appears and jumps as she sees me. Will this effect how people respond? For the first time, I actually feel underqualified to be a Door-to-Door Poet. Which is ridiculous, how can you be underqualified to do a job you invented? The next one looks like the mansion out of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. I get to the massive porch and pull a metal lever that looks like it could operate a whistle on a steam train. It sets off a big, brass bell, but no one comes out. I carry on. I get to a white brick manor, hidden by a 20 foot tall sycamore tree.
I walk to the entrance and press the bell. Through the window I see a man with a white beard and a grey t-shirt on. He opens the door. I start doing my intro poem. He stops me as I say it. I get to the end and shake his hand. This is Ian and he tells me he reads a lot of poetry.
I ask him if there was a specific moment when he became passionate about this kind of thing. This is before the idea that carbon dioxide might be ruining the atmosphere. He explains how the solar panels on the eco-home will supply energy to the grid. As I head off, he thanks me for coming round. I find this adorable. I give him a wave and he heads back inside. That was great! A lady in a black dress comes out.
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I keep going until I reach the village centre. At a huge yellow mansion, a woman answers with a black Labrador. But good luck! On the left side of the lane is buildings of all kinds of shapes and sizes, on the right is a field with a herd of brown cows grazing in it. I reach a row of neat terraces with pink roses growing up the walls. I try a few doors with no reply. Then, a lady answers in her pyjamas. She says she can spare me a minute and, as I do my poem, she seems into it! We shake hands and she tells me her name is Antonina.
She shouts to her husband, who comes to the door in a blue jumper with spikey hair. I turn around. He puts one hand on my shoulder and points to the meadow across the road. It turns out this is the famous Grantchester Meadows.
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I mention the Pink Floyd song. His later works were darker, with a focus on themes like God, Satan, and death. In , his mistress Juliette died. Hugo himself died in Paris on May 22, Here are the Victor Hugo Quotes for any occasion and topic. To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where it must go. Your prayer knows much more about it than you do. Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.
Life is the flower for which love is the honey. Change your opinions, keep to your principles; change your leaves, keep intact your roots.
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What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering—a hell of boredom. The future has several names. For the weak, it is impossible; for the fainthearted, it is unknown; but for the valiant, it is ideal. If you wish to understand what Revolution is, call it Progress; and if you wish to understand what Progress is, call it Tomorrow.
A two-headed eagle door knocker, Patchin Place, Greenwich Village, New York
A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor. A study can be made against invasion by an army; no stand can be made against invasion by an idea.
Emergencies have always been necessary to progress. It was darkness which produced the lamp. It was fog that produced the compass. It was hunger that drove us to exploration. And it took a depression to teach us the real value of a job. Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake. He who every morning plans the transaction of the day and follows out that plan, carries a thread that will guide him through the maze of the most busy life.
But where no plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidence, chaos will soon reign. Christianity leads poetry to the truth.