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Tilly (Photo credit: Stuart L Ruffell)

I haven’t been around the blogosphere much these last few days.  I haven’t visited many blogs, or even my own – comments have been left  unanswered, unapproved, unspammed.  Having a life outside of blogging is really irritating sometimes because it gets in the way of my real world.

tilly (Photo credit: ParsnipSoup)

 

Time I would normally have given to you was spent on my poetry blog this week.  Here’s a snippet from last Monday’s post (apologies to those of you who have already seen it):

…on 12 May it was the 200th anniversary of Edward Lear’s birth. I adore his poems and he has been an influence on my writing [...] I have decided to hold my own event to celebrate, and you can expect a nonsense poem a day for the next week, written by me, not Mr Lear.

And here’s a snippet from yesterday’s post, when I wound up the celebration:

I have a confession to make and I’ve been putting it off.

You know how I’ve been celebrating Edward Lear and his nonsense poems all week, by posting nonsense poems of my own? I made the first post on Monday and then I had one of those middle-of-the-night moments when you sit up in bed and shout, ‘Oh no!’

I had suddenly realised that when I read it was Edward Lear’s 200th birthday, what my brain heard was ‘Hillaire Belloc’, who wrote those wonderful cautionary tales of naughty children and was the actual influence on my own writing, not Edward Lear.

What a delicious irony: my posts have all been nonsense, because I have been celebrating the wrong poet.

Once the shame fades, I will try to catch up with your blogs and comments, but please accept my apology if I don’t get to you straight away: I am going to work backwards down my email inbox because I tend to miss things otherwise.

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Tilly (Photo credit: Digitalorthodoxy)

I found a great typo this morning in an article I read; the author was discussing slugs in her garden:

…I saw a trail of slim…

Wish I could get me some of that.

She must have found the spare ‘e’ because she stuck it on the word ‘mar’ later on:

It will mare one’s character.

A horse!  A horse!  My slimdom for a horse!

I shouldn’t laugh; I bet she knows her poet from her pot.

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Tilly (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I heard about another Tilly Bud from Siggi of Maine.  No relation, although she is also in the Manchester area.  There’s nothing to tell and I wouldn’t have mentioned it except that I discovered yet another Tilly Bud this morning.  Actually, Tilly and Bud. 

Videos still won’t work on this blog – WordPress Unhappiness Engineers please take note – so you’ll have to check them out yourself, here. 

I’m a little afraid to send you over there, because I think you will prefer that Tilly and Bud to me.  In fact, I guarantee it.

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