My first published book of poetry
The next day and thereafter the process was repeated; not though today.
For last night into my mind came nine words - a metaphor - which is like a long lost solitary piece of a jigsaw puzzle and it is still echoing in the recesses of my being. As yet I have neither inspiration nor inclination to do anything with it. That line will be entered in a page of a notebook which has other lost lines and like the others it will grow neither fat nor slim, until one of them drops like magic into a rightful place. Hopefully I shall get started soon and start scribbling away.
At this time of the year, during mid winter we listen to the radio far more than at other times of the year (no TV by choice).
During my late teenage years I realised that listening to the radio was far better than watching the attention seeking one eyed monster in the corner of the lounge, because at the very least I could paint or read a book at the same time.
So when I reached the age of maturity my decision was not to have a TV.
Writing about that non-sensical box has revived memories of the letters that I would receive annually from the TV licensing authorities and of the great delight I had when making my polite replies. All of that altered [the politeness - that is] when they changed their previous format and started their letter with a threat to prosecute me, to which I replied with extreme vehemence.
I told them how dumb they were in not noting the contents of my previous sixteen letters and of how they needed to keep a register of non-conformers like myself which would save both of us the cost of postage etc.
Since becoming a pensioner however, the powers that be have granted me a free TV licence for life and I no longer get any letters. That too has its drawbacks as I can no longer vent my spleen annually and rid my self of my accumulated angst !