Raining in My Heart...

I spoke yesterday of rote learning. Chunks of poetry learnt in school continue to give many people of my generation immense pleasure. Partly it's prowess: look, I can still do this (Can't find my specs but I can recite John Donne, except that now I am "the busy old fool") and partly pleasure. Just proves a point that these activities become enmeshed in long-term memory because of the effectiveness of over-learning carried out decades earlier.
The other day Dearest was going on an outing with an old school friend to the Royal Airforce Museum in Hendon. Joy of joys... I begged to go with them because I love stroking an old Spitfire on a Saturday morning. You know me ..
They heeded me not, and I was left to more delightful devices at home. Jim arrived promptly on the most beautiful of autumn mornings.
We sat down to a coffee before they set off:
"The sun is out/ The sky is blue," he mused aloud.
"There's not a cloud/To obstruct the view," I joined in, with something resembling a tune...
We looked at Dearest who looked at us bemused.
"I never liked Wordsworth," he said.

 

The Confusables.....