This week's blog was going to be about going to see Bryan
Ferry with a friend who works for his record label who had complimentary tickets for his concert at the London Palladium (it was fantastic, you would have loved it). And about reading Blake Morrison's
book As If, which I read in one sitting last week and which blew my mind (do read it, it's harrowing but brilliant). But
it's not about either because there isn't a blog again this week because I'm up to my
ears in GCSE revision.
In my defence, lest you think me an
over-controlling mother (heaven forbid), I didn't get remotely involved in revision with the other
two sons. It's just horses for courses and this one needs me, if only for English and RS revision because I haven't a clue about maths or any of the sciences. So
any road, that's my excuse vis-à-vis the blog this week. Normal service to resume soon.
Love E x
@DOESNOTDOIT
P.S. Meanwhile, here's something amazing by W.B.Yeats.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
