It’s National Poetry Day today and without wishing to get myself labelled a complete heathen I have to say I’ve never really ‘got’ poetry.
I’m not a literary ignoramus; I’ve read a lot of books and some of them didn’t have many pictures.
But I just didn’t see the point of poetry at school and I struggle to be more enthusiastic about it 30 years later. Admittedly in the intervening years I have taken quite a liking to the works of Sir John Betjeman - largely because of the inclusion of steam trains - but I’m still firmly in the camp of ‘if you wanna write a story, write a story…’
It may be puerile but the only poetry I genuinely enjoy is of the limerick variety. My young colleague Henry has been on the receiving end of a couple of crackers from another young colleague, Lee, who has a wicked sense of humour.
Only this week, having returned from a holiday in Sri Lanka, Henry was greeted with Lee’s ‘There was a man back from Sri Lanka’, and it doesn’t take much to guess the pay-off.
If anybody out there knows a book which I can read which will help me understand the fascination of poetry – Iambic Pentameter for Fat Bastards perhaps? – then please let me know.
Mention of art and fat bastards also brings me on to another topic. One thing I have grown interested in since I have got older is art. One of my favourite places on earth is the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. Not only is it a stunning building – it’s a conversion of a wonderful old railway station – but it houses many stunning works of art.
I wasn’t quite so taken with the contents of the Louvre which seemed dark and claustrophobic by comparison, but even I would draw the line at allowing a McDonald’s franchise into the museum.
Not surprisingly art lovers are up in arms – apart from the Venus de Milo, obviously.
The Louvre told the Daily Telegraph it had agreed to a "quality" McCafé - no don't laugh - and a McDonald's, which are "in line with the museum's image".
We can surely expect an adaptation of the Louvre Pyramid with a covering of sesame seeds in the style of Tracey Emin or perhaps half a Big Mac in formaldehyde courtesy of Damien Hirst.
Let’s be honest, it wouldn’t taste any worse than one you’d get over the counter.
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