My last formal poetry class of the year. Attendance is lowish, but they've all read the poems and are suitably horrified by some, touched by others. A good, opinionated debate ensues and I've been shown interesting ways to read lines I hadn't thought about before.
Urge to kill… falling… falling…
Haggis (ignore all the stuff about piping it in etc: that's Victorian BS invented for tourists and those Scots who gave away a country and then wanted to relocate the nation in something other than political power) for dinner tonight. Mmmm. Sarah was in Edinburgh for a meeting, and bought me a lovely MacSween's one - king of haggises (haggi?). Astonishingly, their vegetarian one is just as delicious, though how anything not containing 'heart, liver, lungs and spleen' can be delicious is a mystery I'll never solve.
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