Comma

Oh dear, the blogging has rather gone to pot. But to fill in the gaps, a little poem:

Written on the Back of St. Anthony's

You must have hit the rails pretty hard;
They're bent into a stack of Bishop's hats,
And I don't know why I panic now, knowing,
Too well, the length of it. But when I look up there,
There are no stars, only aeroplanes circling
With a constant blink blink, rising and falling
In a circle of certain mundane beauty, but what
A heartless sight, those flickers in a thick matt sky,
Because there is no such place as far away, in love,
And yet, from here, I can find no place further.

Minor worries of late: am I addicted to commas?? Will the Mighty 'ding ever be mighty again?! And will Eduardo's foot ever be properly connected to his leg again??? Ugggg.

Minus plusses: going to see Isla St. Clair at the local Folk club. She was like the lovely music teacher I never had - I've never quite forgiven the pompous old twat that demanded I go up and play something on the piano, despite my protestations that I couldn't play it. "Yes even you can play something" he said (to the assembled class) after I plonked my hand down on the note G). If this humiliation was meant to encourage me to a career in music, it sadly failed - and then, of course, the lovely Man Eyken is playing at the ol' Folk club in May. Something which makes me happier than it really should do! And I've also just finished watching Pride and Prejudice for the erm about 6th time, and it still the most lovely thing ever to be shown on TV. Sigh.