It’s Hay Festival again. I won’t go droning on and on with the usual bountiful enthusiams. Suffice to say that it’s worth an annual pilgrimage even if you’re only slightly interested in books, book people, films, culture, hedonism and breathtakingly Welsh countryside. 900 more words
There was a serene sweetness in the air and a soft breeze that carried me up the soft, spongy path. It took me a whole two minutes to walk from the white fence at the beginning of the path to the large, ovular, translucent front door at the end of it. 1,634 more words
In the field lay the bitternuts,
surrounded by buttercups.
Vines danced lilting jitter bugs,
whilst honouring the sutterfuts.
The moon has gone zubzub
and the flies try not to budwub. 122 more words
That great institution the House of Commons meets in a room that doesn’t have enough seats for all its members (called MPs–Members of Parliament).
A good part of the time, this is fine, because most debates take place before an almost empty chamber. 618 more words