One man's laugh is another man's groan. Not everybody likes Ogden Nash (though I do). Not everybody rolls about at Hilaire Belloc's Cautionary Tales (though I do). T S Eliot's cats never got half the publicity of 'The Waste Land' and Ruth Pitter's case for The Comic Muse has never really been heard.
Kate Scott's pamphlet is out and about. Escaping the Cage has a gorgeous cover design. The poems inside look innocent enough at first, then knock you off your cosy chair when you're least expecting it.
There are new pamphlet reviews on the website! This has been slower than usual because of the rampage of publications going on in this little corner of the world and because of me fighting with the Inspiron machine (which has empowered, but not inspired me). And there will be more soon. It would be nice if I had had review copies from Faber's new pamphlet imprint. Needless to say, none have arrived here . . .
You think it won't get you but it does. It does.
I remember an occasion when my son was eight years old. He was so enraged with his Sega that he shrieked and hurled it across the room. It crashed into his father's hi-fi.
I didn't think it was funny until after she'd gone away. But then I realised I'd handed her forty thieves in a box. I should have put them in a big jar, like Ali Baba. I have a jar. . . .
The thieves were for the London launch of The Thief, which is at seven pm on Monday 25th October in the second floor suite of the Old Crown in new Oxford Street. The Old Crown doesn't have a sign outside showing its name, but it is the pub on the corner of New Oxford Street and Museum Street, about halfway between Tottenham Court Road and Holborn tubes. If you think you can go along (please do), email me on nell@happenstancepress.com and I'll let her know. That's if I manage to get this blog post to appear. . .
Last week I confessed I'd fallen behind schedule. Not too far. Just a wee slip and slither. However, I fell further this week, mutter, mutter.
The megrim arrived, and grimmer than usual. I love the word 'megrim'. Old word for migraine but also, I learn, describes a whim or caprice. And . . . er . . . 'megrim' is also a species of turbot. Edible.