On a rather sultry evening, 5 student poets performed their compositions and Isabella Shaw was declared the winner by the extremely fabulous Benjamin Zephaniah.
Her winning poem, “Variations on the Westron Wind*,” opens like this:
“The stones remember me
Ay, in the pale and deathless hour
Between the sun’s setting forth and the sun’s return
The shape of my long hand
The taste of my heart interred.”
In the pale and deathless hour between the sun’s setting forth this morning, and about 45 minutes later than intended on account of not being able to find the paper part of my driving licence, I went to Norwich and the lovely people at Lind lent me this younger, fitter, and healthier version of Ruby to use while they check her over for damage. She’s taller, because after 36,000 miles Ruby’s back end is saggier than Winifred Hathi’s. The gearbox moves with a snick, not a kick. And she’s had a bit of lipo around the front.
Younger, fitter – but better? Well, the thing is that after all those miles Ruby remembers not so much the shape of my long hand – though I seem to have worn the handgrips smooth – but the shape of my lard-arse. Which is not quite so poetic. But it does prove that Ruby is the most Important, the most Beautiful, the most Magical Saggy old GS in the whole wide world. And I hope that she’s going to get a clean bill of health in the morning.
*The Westron Wind is a medieval fragment which is mostly about sex.