Just seen a second hand copy of my book available on Amazon for £91.34, plus £2.80 postage.
It’s in good condition though.
I just read this, in a review of Death Of The Poets, by Paul Farley and Michael Symmons Roberts:
‘ . . . as one psychologist is quoted as saying, “being a published poet is more dangerous than being a deep sea diver.” Versifiers are absolute martyrs to anorexia, agoraphobia, epilepsy, dipsomania, manic depression, paranoia, broken hearts and self-slaughter.’
Think it’s time for a career change.
I wish my wife would stop getting the kids cups with pictures on them. I’ve just spent five minutes trying to clean off a juice stain that turned out to be the blush on a baby duck’s cheek.
Should have gone to Specsavers.
I was singing along to Christmas songs. Walking In The Air came on: ended up with a neck like Deirdre Barlow.*
*for non-English readers, Deirdre Barlow was a character in a soap opera, whose straining neck chords were much commented on during emotional scenes.
With some of the sights that I saw today, I thought Manchester was surpassing itself. But then my wife pointed out that The Rocky Horror Show was in town.
Chuck Berry is bringing out his first album in 38 years.
There’s hope for The Beatles yet.
To break the ice with our new student, who is from Switzerland, I suggested that the kids ask her some questions about her country, her culture, and her life in general. They agreed:
“Would you rather go in a house full of spiders or a house full of bees?”
“Would you rather wear a hat with a wasps’ nest in it, or a hat with a tarantula in it?”
“Would you eat a fat caterpillar or a cup full of ants?”
Not exactly what I had in mind.
Think she will move out by weekend.