Posted by: okathleen | December 1, 2008

Nothing to Fear

From one Kingsley to another. I noticed in the Sunday papers a survey revealing the British as the most promiscuous/likely to have affairs and wondered whether our Chief Constable had been an interviewee and skewed the figures? It coincides with  my post before last, and anarchy in Sale Moor. Reading John Bayley’s Good Companions I found this poem by Kingsley Amis called Nothing to Fear, about his ‘appetite for sex’… extra marital that is…

 

All fixed: early arrival at the flat

Lent by a friend, whose note says Lucky sod;

Drinks on the tray; the cover story pat

And quite uncheckable; her husband off

Somewhere with all the kids till six o’clock

(Which ought to be quite long enough);

And all worth while: face really beautiful,

Good legs and hips, and as for breasts, my

                God.

What about guilt, compunction and such

                Stuff?

I’ve had my fill of all that cock;

It’ll wear off as usual.

 

Guilt and compunction trumped by desire and need. Well that’s OK then. Plough the fields and scatter, or just a solitary aspidistra on the window sill. YOU decide, press the red button now.

Also reading ‘Stress and Health’ Lovallo and ‘The Sea’ by John Banville whose Irish lilt melts off the page. Some Granta issues have been very useful. One has a picture essay by Tom Stoddart about an evangelist who can cure Aids. I’d like to have a pop at a picture essay and took my camera out yesterday to Beeston Castle via Beeston Castle Auction Rooms. I know I know, it’s getting tedious. But I did leave a bid on a chunky oak roll top. Someone had customised it, so that when the cylinder folds up a drinks holder slides out. Think this might be the one. If not Eli’s patience will be  threadbare, and I shall resort to laptop on kitchen table.

Beeston was brilliant. Stark cold blue day. Sun dipping towards Welsh  mountains. Lofty panorama of Pennines and Manchester nestling under a pink milky smog. Jodrell bank on the horizon in the mist, like a full moon rising. Then to the pub in Bunbury, log fire, roast duck and all is right with the world.

 

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