My Addiction

Politics is an addiction I have.

I get my newspaper in the morning and the first thing I do is trufflehunt any scrap of political gossip. What a Blair acolyte said (in code) about Brown. What a Brown acolyte said (in code)  about Blair. 

Why? Surely I'd be happier not knowing what these poor excuses for human beings are getting up to. It's always disgusting. It's always low. Its always devoid of thought.

I read in order to increase my contempt for them. This can't be healthy.

What if I went cold turkey?

That Which Was Lost

Remember how I lost my Roman ring? I'm not sure I wrote about it at the time- too upsetting, but I certainly wrote about buying a couple of replacements on eBay. 

Well, anyway- I was raking in the back yard just now and - chingle, chingle- there it was. 

Thank you, thank you, lares et penates.

And here to celebrate is a poem I wrote back in the day about the Roman city of Isurium Brigantum (Aldborough)

ALDBOROUGH

They've got an image of Mercury
In the village church. Though it's weather-worn,
If the light falls right you can just make out
His horns and his staff. The Roman town
Was a bustling place. It had walls this thick
And a governor's palace. It's only been dug for
Randomly. A man lifting tubers
Hits on a pavement. A coin and a brooch
Are spotted among her alyssum
By a woman weeding. Two fine mosaics
Are shown in situ in two little houses
Built to their measure- which made me think
Of the three little pigs and the big, bad wolf;
He huffed and he puffed and he blew the house down-
Twice, not thrice. In the heritage shop
I bought this torc which I'm wearing now
For the ancestors. It cost me a quid
And the gilt wore off in a couple of days.
It feels like a watch- every once in a while
I'll glance down at it to check the time.