Thirty days hath September, April, June and November. Unless a leap year is its fate, February hath twenty-eight. All the rest hath three days more, excepting January, which hath six thousand, one hundred and eighty-four.
Some poems
Tell me, what is it about this position that interests you? The warmth, perhaps? The security? Or the power you must feel by rendering me useless? Feel free to expand if you wish. I see you have had experience of similar positions. Can you talk about a time when you got someone’s tongue? Or were…
Today I shall listen to the news and the football scores and the tally of the dead. Intermittently, I shall pick at the crossword and the biscuit tin, and stare out of my back window at a squirrel as he scurries along my fence. Later, there may be a film to watch. But for now…
Annual reminder to water your tree poems this Christmas.
And onto today’s climate forecast, where we can expect to see a prolonged spell of inaction, interspersed with patches of hazy promises across many areas. Over Westminster and other centres of government, a build-up of hot air will cause inactivity to soar to record levels over the coming days, in spite of the high pressure. Elsewhere,…