So Andrew it is nearly over - back to the proper stuff - at least you knew you didn't have to die in poisoned harness. According to the Guardian, the new Poet Laureate is Carol Ann "Tin Tin" Duffy but maybe we should wait until tomorrow or whenever Gordon Brown can fit the announcement into his busy schedule of trying to look like he's in control. I confidently predict that, should Duffy actually become Poet Laureate, she will write not one poem as part of the job because she will be too busy knocking out belting, welsh-tinged soul ballads or claiming that she was once in Duran Duran. I note that Simon Armitage is still joint favourite with Duffy at William Hill. Like Swine Flu we will not know until we know.
In scanning the papers for stuff about the laureateship I just found this picture of Duffy with Valerie Eliot. The fact that TS Eliot's wife is still alive always takes me by surprise. But so do so many other peculiarities of time. I like time to be nice and simple and when the calculations regarding the overlap of various people's lives become messy, I am caught out. But after all time is just numbers in a sequence and (ignoring relativity) it always flows at the same rate so why I am so messed up about it?
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