cruel deception

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover. But surely, when it’s a book you have read and loved but don’t own a copy of, when you serendipitously find one in a secondhand bookshop you can give silent thanks to Seshat, Sant Jordi, or other bookish divinities and venerable figures, and promise yourself the pleasure of revisiting beloved places and renewing acquaintance with long-lost friends?

Well, maybe. That’s certainly what I thought would happen when I found a copy of Elizabeth Goudge’s A City of Bells last weekend.
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broken

I’m pretty sure there’s no bus service that calls at the local supermarket, so I’m not sure why there is a bus shelter in middle of the car park. Perhaps it’s a trolley shed, though I don’t know why they’d need to be kept protected from the elements – especially as any that stay out after hours are most likely to be found wandering at the uttermost extremes of the car park, not tidily lodged for the night.

Whatever it is, though, bus shelter, trolley shed or something else entirely, where there are perspex walls, there is likely to be vandalism, so I was unsurprised to find one of the panels shattered when I was out on an early morning walk recently.
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(not) visionary poetry

This week I failed to celebrate two fairly important days.

Wednesday, 30th of September was International Translation Day, and Thursday, 1st of October was National Poetry Day in the UK. (I’ve mentioned before that I don’t understand why the UK has a different Poetry Day and a different Book Day from other countries, but I’m not going to chase that red herring today.)
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let’s not talk about it

I’ve mentioned before that, despite the restrictions to normal life, I’ve been doing quite a lot of travelling on public transport recently. I’ve waited quietly at the station, keeping as far away as possible from other travellers and felt very much like Dick Turpin about to waylay a stagecoach or a highwayman about to hold up the mailtrain as I’ve pulled my mask over my face when the train approaches.

I don’t particularly like wearing a face mask, but I think it probably makes sense to do so, not just because it’s a legal requirement.
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the “p” word

“Ah… the ‘p’ word,” said my friend Claire, yesterday, which seems a good point from which to start today’s blog post. I wonder what that phrase meant to you when you read the title.

Perhaps, because it was juxtaposed with a photo, you thought I meant pears. If so, you probably wondered why they would be unmentionable except by initial. Certainly we weren’t talking about pears or fruit of any kind yesterday. But as I had the photo from a recent walk in the park, it seemed as good a picture as any from which to start.
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