under another sun

So up, fairly early, and finished work on my pamphlet for the Cinnamon competition, and sent it off. Remembering Paul Valery: a poem is never really finished only abandoned. However at least I met my self-imposed target which was good. You never know your luck. While Lorraine was speaking at length to insurance people about the snowy sliding bumps in February, I spoke to Mum who had texted me that she had just found out that Spider Fred had died in December when she randomly googled him. I knew him as a child, as he was a great chum of Gerald my stepfather, and I was lucky enough to be taken out by him spider collecting. We drove out to a disused railway siding and put trays under bushes, and shook the bushes until the spiders rained down into the trays. These were then efficiently sucked up with a rubber tube with a glass end, and a filter made out of stockings material. A fascinating day. He had draws of spider specimens at home too. Once home I tried sucking up a large fly, but h...