Just possible that a poem might happen

So, did I tell you, dear Reader, that I’d been organising a poetry evening in Swansea? No? Well, I did. And it was tonight. My wonderful readers did a great job, and the audience (kindly described as “intimate” by one lady who attended) was appreciative out of proportion to its size. Though the otherwise wonderful K’s intro and outro entirely missed the point of the evening, it was nonetheless rather good fun. Though, I have to ask, why do churches have to be so cold that your toes go numb? Is it some kind of spiritual mortification thing? Do clergy think that, through the cunning induction of numbness, the faithful will be tricked into believing that they are having some kind of religious ecstasy? Or maybe it’s the Holy Spirit breathing on us, like in the hymns? Someone get the Holy Spirit a bottle of scotch and a good log fire, that’s what I say.

I’m so going to Hell.