I'm grateful to those who understood about it, and I'm surprised at how many it has happened to before me; I can only apologize and continue to explain that it's not my fault to those who were troubled by it and I can only feel sorry for those who didn't even realize and replied to me, not understanding what it was about, but thinking they were replying to the name that appeared in their inbox.
I do feel degraded and sullied by the experience and it's not often I feel like that. I can only hope the perpetrators get some satisfaction out of their enterprise because it does no favours for me, those that have been in my address book over the years or those it has progressed onwards to, who are people at least two degrees of separation away from me.
I spent hours on the phone to India, talking to my new best friend, Madhur, who assures me that it will be sorted out after all the scans and wizardry that he did so remotely to solve the problems. Good grief, I thought I'll quite happily give up on the internet, all this vainglorious blogging and e-mail, I have a big pile of books, the wireless and an All Gas & Gaiters DVD, surely that's enough for anybody.
And, also, by the way, the programme for the forthcoming year of Portsmouth Poetry Society is now on the website (see nearby link) and so, if you're in the area, come and see if you enjoy a meeting. Your first visit costs nothing at all and we will be delighted to see you. I've been to a number of the groups in the past and looked at the websites of others and I can promise you there's not another I'd rather go to.
So, let's hope the nightmare is over and I can have my life back.
But more and more apologies in the meantime.
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Like any box office attraction, I've looked at the ticket sales for the Poetry Lunch at the Havant Literary Festival. Sales seemed to going well earlier in the week when it said only three tickets were still available.
But now there are six.
I can only assume that three people realized that I was reading there and promptly asked for their money back. But I can assure everyone that it won't be that bad and it will only be a couple of poems from me and everybody else will be lovely and charming. So, roll up, roll up and make the event a sell out. I mean, I've bought a ticket, I'm doing by bit, I don't think Mick Jagger pays to get into Stones gigs.
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Our walk this afternoon began in Earnley, it's name was Earnley and was near the slowest seashore in the West. It has a bird sanctuary and I was told by those that know that I saw an egret. I don't know how good that is. But it was slow going on the shingle and one can appreciate how Red Rum won three Grand Nationals by practicing on Southport beach. But it was fresh air and the hugest of fun.For instance, having been the fourth best in the world at what he did, was Tim Henman a failure.
Well, when you are fourth best in the world at anything you do, please let me know.
And what of Jeremy Corbyn's prospects as Labour leader or Prime Minister. Probably precious little but he struggled to get enough nominations and now, the last time I looked, he was 2/9 favourite to be Labour leader. But at least he will be a Labour leader, if he becomes it, because there's no point winning a General Election to keep the Conservatives out if you only do what they would have done if they had got in.
Oh, it's a lively debating chamber on these walks sometimes. I can hardly believe I actually care enough but then I notice I'm jabbing my finger at the opposition, the opposition who are some of the few best mates I have. Luckily there was some scenery to look at as well.
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Meanwhile, back on the camera and the latest in my series of photographs of David Green's books, herewith a picture of the George Eliot section of the library here, which is complete in as far as it now comprises the novels and a biography. There's no point being completist about these things because that's an obsession one can never get to the end of. I haven't even got everything I've done. But I think it's fair to say I love George Eliot. She is admirable, hugely intelligent, makes me laugh more than you might think and I'm very glad I realized in time to collect this little pile of cheap second hand copies.I don't need pristine collector's item copies of books, it's the words inside that matter and as long as they're not too scruffy and don't fall apart, any such book is welcome here.
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ERRATA. Stuart Paterson wrote to point out some errors in my review of his new book. He's not the least bit upset about what I think about the poems, they are fine. But he hasn't returned to Ayrshire, he has gone back to Scotland and lives in Galloway. Some of my other observations were astray. The poem, John's Christmas, was not included in this book because it doesn't fit with the rest of the book for perfectly good reasons. It was not left out due to any lapse in editorial judgement and will be in a longer, forthcoming volume in due course. I won't be the only one looking forward to that.
But I'll be leaving my review as it is. I like mistakes, like when Larkin saw a tomb in Chichester Cathedral and then went home and wrote An Arundel Tomb.
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That'll do.
