o tell me the truth about all of that stuff and more

I woke up this morning thinking about the flaws in my make-up, all far to serious for the first thing on a Saturday morning but there it was these fleeting but haunting realisations.

Then I picked up some W.H. Auden, I confess that this is something that I very seldom do not because of the author for whom I have both an affinity and strong admiration but because it is a collection of poetry, I rarely ever read poetry, prose or pulp is more my style.

And I took Auden with me to the lounge, he followed me to the kitchen as I was clearing away last night’s array of wine glasses and even into the bathroom but I conceded defeat as there was no way that I was going to be able to brush my teeth as well as read such is the limited extent of my multi tasking abilities.

After reading the best part of 10 or more poems and Funeral Blues thrice, a certain passage just echoed in my mind. This was without pretence or anxiety but it just seemed to replaced all of the pre-existing thoughts of the things that I should do, that I could do, that I must do so as to become a more complete person (which is nonsense but not utterly so). From, O tell me the truth about love:

When it comes, will it come without warning,

Just as I’m picking my nose?

Will it knock on my door in the morning,

Or tread in the bus on my toes?

Will it come like a change in the weather?

Will its greeting be courteous or rough?

Will it alter my life altogether?

O tell me the truth about love.

It only seemed appropriate to listen to the Smiths after that and welcome the in morning glory, make an espresso, do some washing up and then prepare to disappear into the depths of the Virgin Active pool for a few lengths of breaststroke.

Does anyone ever tell you the truth about love?

I guess you just have to constantly figure it out for yourself even reluctantly so at times…enter the dame.