Letters from Wetville

Poll the Grogseller by Charles Thatcher c.1860   Big Poll the Grogseller gets up every day And her small rowdy tent sweeps out; She's turning in plenty of tin people say For she knows what she's about. Polly's good-looking, and Polly is young, And Polly's possessed of a smooth oily tongue; She's an innocent face and a good head of hair, And a lot of young fellows will often go there; And they keep dropping in handsome Polly to court, And she smiles and supplies them with brandy and port And the neighbours all say that the whole blessed day, She is grog-selling late and early. She is grog-selling late and early. Two sly-grog detectives have come up from town, And they both roam about in disguise; And several retailers of grog are done brown, And have reason to open their eyes. And have reason to open their eyes. Of her small rowdy crib they are soon on the scent; But Polly's prepared when they enter her tent; They call for some b...

Earlier this week I fell in love with Carrie Rudzinski.  As it does, life had to go on in its 'normal' and relatively petty fashion, emails and teaching, parenting and washing clothes, meals followed quickly by more family hunger...  But out there are more people who also love Carrie Rudzinski, and one of them filmed her at a poetry slam and posted it on youtube.  For me and for you.  The fifth one who walked away . I was going to post about Kate Atkinson's Life after Life .  It's a great novel, and her structural technique of the life which is lived again and again with small details making a very big difference, is brilliant.  I bet loads of authors want to copy it, but as it's so unique, it's a bit obvious to do so.  It's set in London, the Home Counties English countryside and Germany in both world wars.  I loved this kind of book from as soon as I was reading adult fiction, and then I loved the 'real' London when I lived there, and now this...

Carrie Rudzinski.  Performing here .  I got to hear her perform her poetry tonight in Hokitika and she was utterly wonderful.  I think I'm a bit in love with her actually. So you're saved.  I was on the verge of blogging about buying bedlinen and my odd feelings about respectability.  I was even on the verge of confessing my interest, dating back to my childhood, in British Royalty, and what a weird and frankly sinful socialist that makes me.  Some people watch reality tv, or Shortland Street.  I can tell you that Kate the pregnant royal who spawned a thousand brown updos and probably caused sales of peroxide to plummet, wore a pink Harvey McQueen to a prestigious horse/birthday show the other day.  The linen is a worse story - best you are spared it. But it's okay.  I went out and got myself some seriously wonderful culture, learnt what poetry slam is, discovered codes for such a thing, discovered that I can drive, sort out offspring squ...

Morning. the constant refrain of lost shoes. Clean House. Reunited Pairs of Socks.

Today, absolutely, was a lot better than the entire preceding week. This is because everyone ate, I prepared none of that food beyond a few sandwiches, and I had a day sleep. Nana nap, I believe some people call them. If I really was a nana though, unless the grandchildren were always with me, no young man would wake me up to show me his list of the Famous Five books he has read so far. That was leading somewhere, all the way to trademe, but I declined to follow his lead. Even with about thirty five interruptions, it was still a great day sleep. In the morning, the girl and I chose Mary Poppins at the library. Well, I did actually. I may need some self control not to read it all myself now she is in bed. It's been a while. I read some nutritious books on food. I ogled some pattern reviews and classy blogs on sewing. But I maintained a considerable distance from such intensive activities as actually cooking or sewing. Favourite Handyman finished stacking the wood despite...