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Saturday, August 21, 2004

Doctor Brighton (as I believe older readers of this blog might refer to the place) has worked his magic. My ear has been noticeably better since arriving here (and immediately eating a medicinal McFlurry) yesterday afternoon. Though I'm sure I can milk the sympathy for a few more days.

In addition, my spirits have been raised this morning by another fine edition of 'Poetry Corner' in The Brighton Argus. I've featured the stirling work being done by Sussex's leading poets once before, and the standard clearly hasn't dropped. Today's paper features a work of some genius by J Montague Strong of Preston Road (who's obviously not ashamed to admit where he lives, the concept of hate mail not having occurred to him), simply entitled 'Limerick'...

A young lady who worked in lobotomy,
Said "I'm cold and there isn't a lot o' me,
But when I sit on your lap,
And you tenderly slap,
Where I'm slim, it makes a much hotter me."

Is there really enough ink in the world to justify that submission? And more to the point, what were the other efforts like if the Brighton Argus considered that worthy of publication? Happily, the letters page of the Argus allow you to submit your correspondence via e-mail, so I'm working on a few iambic pentameters of my own for next week's edition. They clearly have a low quality threshold, so I'm bound to get in.

In a spooky coincidence, it's almost a year to the day since I sat on a beach on the Isles of Scilly and composed a limerick dedicated to the home-made egg sandwiches I was eating at the time...

Oh sandwiches stuffed full of egg,
For you I'd be willing to beg,
And without your fine bread,
I'd rather be dead,
Oh... I've spilt you all over my leg.

Obviously I tackle the important topics in my writing.

Today Lisa and I are considering the obvious temptations of 'Hastings Goes Pop', a musical event featuring two high profile bands entitled 'Westlives' and 'Bustid'. They sound like the kind of bands you'd pick up for a couple of quid down the market if you can't afford the real thing. Funnily enough, I was born in Hastings. It's obviously gone downhill since I left.