I wish I knew how to tell them in Westminster how much this case blights the lives of all the British
eccentrics who have been keeping their ears to the ground I imagine.
It casts an old grey shroud of dread to dare speak ever knowingly of all the blasted shame that grits your teeth here
lying on the dark shores of the nation
amid the flotsam failing frequently to keep abreast
of the turning tide
and great evil thing in the pit of a split and smashed heart somewhere
beneath the ocean of possibility
those shuffled and spat their shame black and red upon us in welts. How to speak,
How to speak gets so peculiarly hard when the hard men are so cold
it turns your blood turgid.
The ice expands.
The walls crack.