My plan today was to visit the bank in Witney and pay in a cheque, but I chickened out. The bank has had a refit and is now extremely open plan. The barriers are gone. Surely this has increased the likelihood of bank robbery? I didn't like the idea of being used as a human shield in some gone-wrong heist, with Bruce Willis trying to shoot his head instead of mine.
Of course, posting the cheque has dangers too, such as Simon Milkover from down the road having one of his arson fits and setting alight the post box, with my cheque in it. But I value my life more than my cheques, so I opted for the posting option.
Instead of visiting the bank, I wrote a letter to the author Ian McEwan. I'd found out that over thirty years ago he'd set a challenge for poets to tackle the subject of the other worldly aroma of asparagus piss. I felt I had unwittingly achieved this with my poem Methyl Mercaptan, in the recently published collection A Funny Way With Words. I sent Ian a copy of said book with a letter enquiring whether I had risen successfully to his challenge and, indeed, if there was a prize. Times are hard; and if it's not cash I could flog whatever I've won on Ebay.
I will publish the nature of his response, in this blog, as soon as it comes in. Meanwhile, enjoy the poem:
