A blue tit just flew in from the patio through the sliding door to the kitchen, traversed the dining room, entered the living room and exited (with a little judicious assistance) through the sliding door out onto the patio again. It then needed a little extra judicious assistance to surmount the glass screen that protects the patio from the wild west wind.
It seems the government has been counting foreign students in but not counting them out again- and immigration figures have been inflated as a result. They've been claiming that nearly 100,000 stay on illegally each year when the true figure is under 5,000.
And of course these false figures have been used to ramp up a xenophobic, brexity mindset.
One could put this down to incompetence or cynicism or a combination of both- but however you parse it, it ain't pretty. Kudos to those- in parliament and out- who have agitated to have the true figures acknowledged; no kudos at all to those- including Theresa May- who thought the false figures acceptable.
Ailz (playing on my taste for channelled writings) Did he write them before or after?
Shewhomust brought it to my attention that- had he hung around for a few more years- Causley would have been celebrating his 100th birthday yesterday. I remembered how much I liked him and went looking for his work online. His Ballad for Katherine of Aragon brought tears to my eyes.
The Queen of Castile has a daughter Who won't come home again She lies in the grey cathedral Under the arms of Spain. O the Queen of Castile has a daughter Torn out by the roots. Her lovely breast in a stone cold chest Under the farmers' boots.
There's something about the ballad form that predisposes my skin to prickle and my eyes to fill but even allowing for this weakness I don't believe there's any post-war English poem that moves me more- unless it's something else of Causley's.
I bought one of his collections in the late 60s and somehow never added to it. Well, that's rectified now.
