Young cock robin, extensive territory, HWP, D/D free, red breast, seeks hen. When a bird sings, it sings itself, and principally what species it is. A robin after all can do very little of any interest or to any purpose with a wren.
After the fall of France in 1940, Joyce became increasingly uncomfortable. In December he went back to his former home of Zurich, but died there suddenly in January of the following year.
Britain’s most valuable poetry prize, funded by the estate of TS Eliot, has gone to David Harsent for his collection Fire Songs.
The American novelist Kent Haruf, whose novels were set in small town Colorado, died late last year. ‘I don’t feel like death is right round the corner. But if it is, it’s a bigger corner than I thought it was.’”
It being January and a new year and all that, perhaps there are some locutions that we should think of putting on the back burner going forward.
John Henry Patterson, born in Ballymahon, Co Longford, was a soldier, then a big-cat hunter in Africa and eventually a sponsor of Zionism and the creation of an Israeli fighting force. He died in California in 1947 and was reinterred in Israel last month.
John Carey thought that Oxford academics were a privileged bunch who had a nerve telling other people what to think. Irish professors are not so rarefied a breed. Perhaps more of them should occasionally peek out and contribute to public debate.
The names of the metro stops in Paris have a certain poetry, Richard Cobb thought, while its reassuring efficiency conveys a sense of security, a sense that one will certainly, at the end of the night, get home to bed.
A tribute to the life and work of Bob Purdie, left-wing writer, activist and analyst, a Scottish trade unionist who identified with militant Irish republicanism, then changed his mind, and ended up campaigning for Scottish independence.
Made a mistake? A really bad one? The best thing to do is to own up. In full..