Time is not our friend this week, but then of all the allegorical concepts Time is always the loner. Love and Beauty are busy holding hands, while Honour and Duty are off playing soldiers, but poor Time is the one left quietly stealing away. Indeed, it is hard to imagine a suitable statue to represent her, unless it is one that is showing definite signs of erosion and verdigris.
This week’s workshop should have started promptly at 8pm, but before we knew it it was already ten past and not a single couplet had been uttered. Determined to get us underway was Doig Simmonds and his musings on the soul and the afterlife before it was too late, swiftly followed by a requiem to supernovas by Martin Choules. Pat Francis has been listening to the galloping morning from the last moments in bed, speedily accompanied by a light-footed Peter Francis dancing with the sun. For John Hurley, the Art World is not repaying the time he invests, but Owen Gallagher is glad he has spent some of his to polish up his peon to the peatland. Anne Furneaux has stored up a whole lifetime’s worth, and now has time to spend on her reminiscences of her previous names, and Michael Harris escaped from his metaphorical cage just in time before the chimes of ten brought the meeting to a close.
Jimmy Leigh Hunt, receiver of Jenny’s peck, spends an entire two lines of his scant eight to comment how Time keeps a list of treats. What else is on this list, we might wonder, and to what purpose is it kept ? Is it mayhap adding up the duration of each activity in a double-entry system against minutes paid out ? What would happen if the two columns do not balance ? Or is it to timestamp the last time such a treat was experienced, to enable the ever-expanding gulf between that last happiness and the present misery to properly weigh down on the conscious ? After all, we each have never been as old as we are right now. Mr L-H’s own thoughts on the matter are not divulged, as ironically in such a short piece he did not have enough time to elaborate.