Sunday night is.. Billy Collins's Budapest

So here's one over Mr Collins for, assuredly (note the elegant locution), I have been there, was born there, conceived there, as was my father, and so on, returning to some far corner of a foreign field that is forever Budapest.

Billy Colllins is a much animated poet. I wish there was more of this kind of thing. Here I am, kindly animator. Just wave so I can see you in the dark. Come animate me.

*

Back from Hitchin, staying Easter weekend with C's much loved mother. Magnolia, gorse, cloud. A strained back for me. I think of old age and, frankly, I doubt whether it is even what it is cracked up to be. Having just received my free bus pass I think a free ride to oblivion at some stage should be fun. Wheee... and there I am back to Budapest, a hand moving on paper, just as in the animation.