Even as I write, Wayne Rooney, who reportedly has taken a shine to poetry, will be slinging a couple of sonnets together.
Last Thursday was National Poetry Day. Missed it again. When the mind goes, there’s precious little you can do about it. However, I do have a wee poem in mind and it goes like this (stop me if I’ve bored you with it already): Down the road that leads to Leith, walked a little boy named Keith, watching Spitfires in the sky, never heeding passers-by.
Change that to Hurricanes if you prefer them to Spits.
Hats off to Fred
I’m not hooked on Strictly Come Dancing, like somebody close to me already is.
Believe I’m no fan but I have to hope that Fred Astaire wasn’t watching (he’d have to emerge from his box) when the big lank (Jeremy Vine’s) top hat fell off. That never happened with Fred, although he did dozens of takes.
She’s had her Day
Persistent rumours that Doris Day has been coaxed out of retirement have been scotched by her manager. Thank the Lord for that.
Because Doris, at a spritely 91, was destined to star in a Clint Eastwood movie. She’s better staying out of trouble and lousy reviews, tending her animals.
Her last cinematic appearance was in 1968 in a movie called With Six You Get Eggroll. By the sounds of it I’m sure glad I missed it. I tried never to miss anything with Doris starring.