Slippers

I heared a brilliant poem on the radio yesterday. Seriously.

I'd just returned early from .. well what was quite frankly a miserable night out and was sleepily listening to radio five. That's unusual, but presumably someone had tuned it from radio1 during the day. It had Edwina Curry (sp?) on. I often forget she has a show on Sat/Sun late evenings. You can say a lot of things about Edwina - slag, trollope, slut. And I'd have to disagree. Basically, she's is the enbodyment of all that lovely old British Ladies stand for. And if you've never met a single lovely old British Lady, then you haven't lived.

They had a poetry thingy on. It was pretty shit. I was thinking 'I'll just listen to the halfhour news, then I'll phone someone' - in the way that we early-slinkers-home-on-a-saturday-night do. Suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising; I found myself listening to the poem being read out on the radio. Blimey.. the words this guy was using were incredible, the staccato rythem was spine chilling. I was suddenly in a trance of poetical satisfaction. I don't remember what the poem was about.

Finally, at the end of it - even Edwina was moved. She asked "And how old are you -name that i can't remember-?" The reply was "16".

Fuck.
sli 6:06 PM