I did listen to a bit from the Imagined Village the other night, Gervase, and, rather than "implode in a messy splutter of outrage" said I didn't like it...I'd rather imagine being in a proper English village, with traditional English music being played in a traditional English pub,...a glass of mead in hand, a clog dancer by my side, and a plate of stottie and chips on the table; and, out the window, a weeping willow licking a river's flow, as snow falls gently on a bevy of swans... And, as for horses, J from K, I'd rather see them running free in a field... Poem 146 of 230: HORSES FOR COURSES?
To some, in income-anticipation, Horse-balking at gates is a small debase; To me, it seems a memory/fear case Over the coming whip-castigation. To some, the winning jockey's elation Is the highlight of an ended horserace; To me, the horse's bulged veins and scared face Undermine the winners' celebration. I can't condone a punter's desire To gamble rather than earn a living, But can acknowledge a jockey's courage; I can't see and think as a raced sire, Nor feel the scrapes hedges are giving, But find horses choiceless in their bondage.