Nine Feet Underground

Q's brother and his wife are heading south today, so it's goodbye until we meet up in Spain later. Back to work... I have been breaking all my own 'rules' about the poems I read, so I've read a couple only once and skipped them (apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer). This week's poem is now by Edna St. Vincent Millay  (look her up) and goes like this: What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. A poem tinged with a deep sense of sad...

Over the hump and on we go. A very early start so Q can go into town for a meeting and to give me time to review a document before work. It's going to be a long day! Halfway through the afternoon the weather dramatically changed.  First heavy rain, then hail and finally thunder. Not that frightening. After my last call of the day, my access was suddenly revoked.  Perhaps the change in the weather was an omen. Somehow Q managed to avoid being out in the rain, despite her travels, and had apparently just arrived back over the road when the heavens opened. It's been quite a day and, in the end, decided not to go to The Idler tonight. Instead, we ordered some Chinese food and ate that, sat at the table chatting. Watched the first couple of episodes of 'Colin From Accounts', which was very funny, followed by the last four acts on Eurovision.  Hell's teeth. How can you write a song referencing Edgar Allan Poe and manage to make it so dire? Nevertheless, Q voted for this A...