Bought poetry today. Last night speaking plain (primogenitor: red wine) caused me problems (Sorry Mr Gillen!) so, upon remembering a desire for Auden and Eliot, I thought softening the betoothed tongue with dulcet vocab a “good thing.” Went out and wasted money (what am I to spend it on – candles, wine and books?) on a pile of cheap books, to add to the embiggened collection spread cross my floor. As per usual, a nice girl at the counter flirted away (thought I was from Prague apparently), and I was too terrified to respond. As per usual came back and kicked myself. Arse. There goes sweete vesperes oth vocabe, back comes Anglo-Saxon. Arse.
Published by GriddleOctopus
There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass. View all posts by GriddleOctopus