As I was writing the last post, a bang, bang BANG at my front door. (I don't have a doorbell)
Outside was Yvo Luna, one of the best and most original performance poets in the city, and in her hand a white plastic bag. Did I want two mackerel she had caught that morning while swimming?
(Being a kind, considerate and multi-talented poet she had already taken the trouble to gut them before bringing them around.)Ok, that's supper sorted.