Oh sigh, my favourite, Swedish poet Tomas Transtr�mer, didn't get the Nobel Prize this year either. I know I've mentioned him on here before, I think I probably made it sound as if he were dead, he isn't but he suffered a stroke many years ago (early nineties I think) and was left aphasic and hemiplegic. Unfortunately (I feel) he and his wife have continued to use some of his old scribbled notes like jigsaw pieces and put them together, combining them into poetry as it were. But there's plenty of gold in the pre-stroke treasure chest and much has been translated, if you're interested.
Beetroot declaration: I like'em but it's a miracle I do 'cos I have a traumatic beetroot experience in my past, ha ha. It's one of my I'm a poor misunderstood vegetarian-stories and it took place in the lunchroom of the place where I worked. They knew I was a vegetarian and they knew I'd be there every day but they couldn't care less. One day they handed me a plate of beetroots. I stood there waiting for the rest of my lunch but it turned out
that was it - a plate full of beetroots, nothing else! I swear I almost cried, I felt like Oliver Twist.
Vinny have you ever worked with
watercolour crayons?