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Can you make a narrative out of a scrabble game, or a poem? Here is our recent game (I won!):

The neon drogue hay-bombed ski queens’ gay traverse. Rain-hid sin reef! Gay fox, plod-paid. Give one kid an ewer brew. No tar-roast date, catchy oboe tape. Guilt!

Gerard Manley Hopkins eat your heart out…

On weathervanes and chimney-stacks

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This week I have been mainly looking up. My favourite thing is to sit above the driver’s seat on the top of the Number 19 bus and admire the eyebrows of London. This morning I got interested in weathervanes. Arriving by bus at the British Library I passed flocks of them, on top of King’s Cross and St Pancras, atop a variety of steeples, and bedecking many a passing parapet. How fabulous. In 2007, why on earth do we need to know so constantly which way the wind is blowing? Read More