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National Poetry Month Day 5
Last night I was supposed to take some stuff over to the new flat, then meet Miranda and offload some bee-related fripperies onto her (for we are in an unceasing chain of bee, and the bee things bequeathed once to me now make a new home), then go to the pub.
What I actually did was take some things to the new flat, lie on the sofa loudly singing along to Indelicates songs, meet Miranda, and then charge off across Alexandra Park and make Miranda jump a drainage ditch while ranting about E M Forster and then get us both monumentally lost in some profoundly unfamiliar streets between Hornsey High Road and the park, while bellowing.
FINALLY got to the pub rather cold and tired and proceeded to warm ourselves up with the most EXCELLENT FUCKING HUGE PIE and some cider and generally rant about bewildering people and feminism and all the other shouty things and left the pub essentially because they were closing it. Miranda leant me the score to Regeneration (self remember this, remember this) and I am rather looking forwards to it.
THIS MORNING I am freezing, freezing cold for some reason, I have to transport some stuff to the new flat before I'm allowed to leave for Portsmouth, and I need to finish writing this poetry analysis and whoops.
National Poetry Month Day 5
Last night I was supposed to take some stuff over to the new flat, then meet Miranda and offload some bee-related fripperies onto her (for we are in an unceasing chain of bee, and the bee things bequeathed once to me now make a new home), then go to the pub.
What I actually did was take some things to the new flat, lie on the sofa loudly singing along to Indelicates songs, meet Miranda, and then charge off across Alexandra Park and make Miranda jump a drainage ditch while ranting about E M Forster and then get us both monumentally lost in some profoundly unfamiliar streets between Hornsey High Road and the park, while bellowing.
FINALLY got to the pub rather cold and tired and proceeded to warm ourselves up with the most EXCELLENT FUCKING HUGE PIE and some cider and generally rant about bewildering people and feminism and all the other shouty things and left the pub essentially because they were closing it. Miranda leant me the score to Regeneration (self remember this, remember this) and I am rather looking forwards to it.
THIS MORNING I am freezing, freezing cold for some reason, I have to transport some stuff to the new flat before I'm allowed to leave for Portsmouth, and I need to finish writing this poetry analysis and whoops.