A sand dance for Sunday afternoon

Time for this again, I think.

No real news: life, life, and more life. IT catastrophes, or is it annoyances, or is it disasters. Auntie bills, auntie groceries, auntie house, Baroque mansions, kids at uni, people, more people. Emails. More emails. ‘You still have your other daughters!’ says Kitty to me. False starts at important bits of work. Admin, money, more kids. More emails. Poetry books piling like snowdrifts in the corners as I begin to prepare for Aldeburgh Poetry Festival, and many, many posts and things to link to in the week, if I can do it quickly enough.

Bubbling under is the Pussy Riot protest tomorrow. I can’t go. But the details are at English PEN. The protest coincides with the day of their appeal in the Russian courts. Anyway, the indefatigable Sophie Mayer has organised, and co-edited with Mark Burnhope and Sarah Crewe, an e-book of poems for Pussy Riot, which will be translated into Russian and sent – if possible – to them in prison. Catechism: Poems for Pussy Riot will be available for download tomorrow as well. As Sophie says, would it not be wonderful if both it and they can be released the same day. ONE of those we can directly make happen, and I hope you’ll download a copy. More in the morning.

In the meantime, Sunday afternoon at the desk, with Wilson Keppel and Betty. I never, ever, ever tire of these guys.

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