An American friend from back in the day- a poet I published when I was assistant editor of a short-lived mag called The Carriage House Review- is breezing through England. Our schedules don't support us hooking up but it's nice to have made contact again. I met him for the first and last time 20 years ago- when he was on another of these fly pasts. I took the train from Manchester down to London and he and his wife and I went for a spin on the London Eye. I got sick on the way home- sheer exhaustion I think- and had to go for a sit-down in Piccadilly Gardens before boarding the bus for the last leg of the journey back to Oldham. It crossed my mind that I might be dying.
He's a good poet, his name's Paul Brucker. You might come across him in small magazines.