Today, I have been resting. Although my mind and body rebel against doing such a thing.
I watched the BBC’s wonderful programme about TS Eliot’s The Waste Land. It reminded me of the fact that I wrote a poem about TSE earlier this year – just search the blog to find it. The programme was fascinating, inspiring, and sad (and proved again that poets are actually not very nice people, and pretty fucked up as well).
Then I watched a programme about the raising of the Mary Rose in 1982. I remember watching it all those years ago, and shuddering when it all almost went wrong. I’m convinced John Peel did the commentary on telly, but can’t find proof of it anywhere.
And then, of course, Strictly had us all in tears. Good tears.
But I still find not doing anything difficult. And I hate feeling so devoid of energy.
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