Drowning

Stevie Smith (1902-1971)

Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man, 

But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

                                                                by Stevie Smith

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/3nrTyn5

Please Sir More Patatas Bravas !

Eleanor and I outside the Storyhouse

 “ Darling John I’ve missed you so!” 

Chic Eleanor was on lovely form when I saw her this afternoon 

We met for a lovely late lunch in a rather swank tapas bar in Chester. 

And she shirked her a Christmas pashmina with suitable joie de vivre before we clinked Sherry glasses. and ordered.

It’s ages since I’ve sampled traditional tapas, 

It was lovely.

We ate delicate croquets filled with black pudding, delightful patatas bravas, sweet zamburiñas scallops in their shells and tiny bowls of chorizo infused lentils with garlic and we both agreed it was fantastic to feel cosmopolitan again. 

“ Darling John” Eleanor crooned , holding my arm “ I’m so happy “

And so was I.

Eleanor exudes happiness

We went to see the so so, abridged and sanitised version of Oliver Twist at the Storyhouse which was almost fun. 

Eleanor , as usual got into the spirit of the adaptation but without Bill Sykes’ death and Nancy’s abuse it wasn’t the same for me, though I did like the black African version of Fagan played with some talent by Cynthia Emeagi 

We talked and talked and talked the afternoon away into evening and I left her by the Church , back at home thankful That I had ever met her.

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/3tz31gk