We Were Only There for the Beer

Sadly I missed Bruce Kent last night as my bike has started clunking a little, and since there are also saddle-bags under my eyes from not sleeping well, I decided it would be better to forego his talk on Trident.  I’ve forgotten what it’s like to go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning: 5.30 is about as late as it gets, though possibly with a subsequent doze.  But subsequent dozes are not Proper Sleep!

Today I’m wrestling with cracked doors, creaky bikes and two poems: one for a friend whose funeral is next week and the other for Westcotes Library, whose funeral may be imminent.  We shall see.  The poem for a friend will be in lieu of my attendance at the funeral as I can’t get to it: I don’t normally write poems in a couple of days so it’s a challenge and I’m having to dredge my memory and those of my friends in order to get some ideas.  The best line of all, alas, can’t be included as it’s hardly appropriate for a church:

‘He organised a piss-up in a brewery.’

I’ve had to modify ‘piss-up’ to ‘knees-up’ – but it’s quite true: Mark did in fact organise a drinking session at one of the micro-breweries in Burton where he was working at the time.  I don’t remember it so it must have been good…

The library poem is coming on quite well, though.  I guess I’m more used to writing protest poems than I am to writing elegies, especially ones which can’t be too tragic or high-flown.

Watched the latest ‘Rev’ last night – it was a bit toe-curling at the end as (look away now if you don’t want to know) he commissioned a sculpture and for reasons too complex to explain his conscience took over and he thought the sculpture was about him.  He destroyed it in front of everyone and thereby lost a sizeable donation to the church which would have covered their deficit.  So St Saviour’s is still under threat – and will presumably remain so for the rest of the series…

Kirk out



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