Babies Are Not Brought By Storks And

"love" Is So Short Of Perfect Rhymes That Convention Allows Half-rhymes Like "move". The Alternative Is A Plague Of Doves, Or A Kind Of Poem In Which The Poet Addresses His Adored Both As "love" And As "guv" - A Perfectly Decent Solution Once, But Only Once, In A While.

When Mr Ackroyd Says That In The 18th Century, Stranglers Bit Off The Noses Of Their Victims, I Feel That He Probably Knows What He Is Talking About. I Just Wish He Hadn't Told Me.

Windbags Can Be Right. Aphorists Can Be Wrong. It Is A Tough World.

What Happened To Poetry In The Twentieth Century Was That It Began To Be Written For The Page.

I Prefer Writing In The Mornings, So To That Extent I Have A Routine. I Do Reading And Other Things In The Afternoon.