There was a time when Mark was convinced – improbable though it may seem – that Don Quixote was so-called because he travelled on a donkey. Never mind that the Spanish for donkey is ‘burro’, nor that the spelling has nothing to do with ‘donkey’; he thought it nonetheless.
But enough of all this donkeying about, let us return to last night at an actual Donkey, the one on Welford Rd. I was poeting there last night before a couple of bands played to accompany the giving away of books for World Book night. It was great fun: I did some local poems including The Bowstring Bridge and Richard III and they were well-received, though it did get rather hot once they inexplicably lit the wood-burning stove. The jazz/blues band which followed were also good.
Argh no! I’m listening to the Archers and it seems like Tom is going to bail on Kirsty. I can’t believe it! I feel almost as devastated as I did when Doc Martin left thingy standing at the altar.
Please don’t, Tom!