Yesterday saw me tootling down the Lisburn Road on a shopping expedition to purchase a replacement kettle. Our old one was leaking and I thought it prudent to avoid electrocuting anyone in our kitchen whose only crime was the taste for tea or coffee.
I had seen the very thing and, having removed all the cardboard packaging, I was able to pack it in the side panier and head on for the rewards of male shopping – a pint with a friend. As I approached the pub on the Ormeau Road (maps will not be supplied with this yarn) my friend Graham was just leaving. He was accompanied by another Graham and a mutual friend, Rebecca, who I had not seen in about 10 years. A quick catch up conversation ensued and it turns out Rebecca is working for the Royal Navy. Her degree was in music, I think, so I hope she is keeping that up, but the two Grahams and Rebecca were in haste for the Manu vs Swansea game at a hostelry downtown, so our chat was brief.
Shamelessly promoting this blog to Rebecca and my odespinner tag, as a way of keeping in touch, I entered the Pavillion for dark liquid and gentle banter.
DC was in good form and we talked freely of basketball, his charity work, my office work, money and finally poetry. DC had penned some words ages ago that were published in an anthology of poems called “You can’t eat flags for breakfast.” I was curious to see if he still felt the urge to write and was pleased to hear that recently the Muse had whispered in his shell-like. I waffled on about the Penguin guide to verse, a slim volume that I have not absorbed. It deals with the form, structure and technicalities of writing verse with examples of the different styles – one day I’ll pick it up and have another go at it.
Returning home having quaffed moderately, I placed the new kettle next to the electrical hazard and the comparison was favourable. We are now able to boil water without danger. If we could afford to replace the fridge/freezer and our dodgy oven/grill, we would be laughing. As it is, we are saving all our pennies to supplement our youngest son’s university living expenses. Another 4-5 years of modest living and occasional penury – oh well.
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