Never let it be said…

Cover Keeping Body and Soul together

 

You will know the sort of day I’m having at the moment. I sit in the barge, listening to the rain beating on the roof. If I peer out of the portholes all I will see is the grey water of the estuary, stirred and agitated by the constant driving rain. Still it’s warm enough in here and there is coffee on the stove.

Still I have this strange feeling that somehow I have forgotten to do something. Admittedly this isn’t uncommon, and may be part and parcel of being a husband. Yet I’d have thought that by now I’d have become accustomed to the vague feeling of existential guilt that arrives with matrimony. Hence it must be something else.

I just sat down to plan my programme for the Annual lunch of the Port Naain society for the promotion of thrift amongst the indigent. This is an event I’ve helped to run for a number of years. Indeed looking back, a considerable number of years.

In all modesty I must admit that it tends to be an excellent evening, good company, good food, fine wine, and a wide variety of exceptional talents performing.

 

The indigent

Have needs exigent

< excuse my guillemet

Of ineptitude indicant>

Vocal cleverness

Fingering dexterous

Wine nectarous

Leave you generous

We attest

Without duress

Over the rillettes

To your largesse

 

Yes, over the years we’ve probably raised a tidy sum, which has gone to provide a little comfort and security to impecunious artists of every sort.

Really I ought to write a story about it, but then even as I pick up my pen I’m reminded of what I am supposed to do.

Apparently that Webster chap has produced another one of Benor’s Port Naain Intelligencer tales.

 

Keeping Body and Soul together.

 

 

“Rescuing random strangers on a whim may be the good deed for the day, but will Benor survive the blood feud he has unwittingly become part of. More importantly can he buy back the victim’s soul?”

 

Frankly, given a choice between learning of the convoluted machinations behind the scenes of a successful literary and musical event, or reading some gripping adventure tale about murder, dark sorcerers, and a remarkably dangerous lady (and to be fair she’s remarkably dangerous even by Benor’s standards!) I’d prefer the machinations. But I suppose it wouldn’t do if we were all alike.

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