It had been a very pleasant evening of creatively-tasked partying people, in Stoke-on-Trent and Preston, all linked-up by Skype. Someone, somewhere between Jeremy Paxman and Alan Partridge, got a little carried away. (Blushes). My own creative task had been to write a haiku poem that referred to the evening. Thus:
Cleavage from Preston
To tiny garden people:
Mentioning to the party's host that I'd once begun a romantic relationship through haiku, but that that was in the past, the host insisted 'You should get back to it - do more'. Not really wanting to ask why, I mumbled something about thinking about it. And so:
I'll be making a greater than average - though hugely concise - number of imperfect posts through the month of November.
Unlike the central 17 syllables above, for the rest of the month, there'll be no explanations.