Ode to a speedway track
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past ....
John Keats got it just right. He didn't ride a speedway bike; he died in 1821! Yet his opening lines from the sublime Ode to a Nightingale sum up how I feel at the moment.
The weekend blog may appear here in the next day or so, according to how I feel, but the last two days have been shattering and the next two look to be the same. Saturday and today, Sunday, have been full on days at the track, and every part of my sad, pathetic little body is aching at the moment. When, after a glass of red wine, or four, I feel the muse, I will consign the happenings at Blunsdon to the computer.
For those desperate to know the latest - sorry, desperately and achingly sorry!
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past ....
John Keats got it just right. He didn't ride a speedway bike; he died in 1821! Yet his opening lines from the sublime Ode to a Nightingale sum up how I feel at the moment.
The weekend blog may appear here in the next day or so, according to how I feel, but the last two days have been shattering and the next two look to be the same. Saturday and today, Sunday, have been full on days at the track, and every part of my sad, pathetic little body is aching at the moment. When, after a glass of red wine, or four, I feel the muse, I will consign the happenings at Blunsdon to the computer.
For those desperate to know the latest - sorry, desperately and achingly sorry!
posted by shaleshifter | 12:21 PM
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