The Few Remaining Members of the writers workshop met last night. We should start calling ourselves The Remainders. We all missed being in our usual space, Madame Sour Puss or no Madame Sour Puss. More about her later. We are counter-offering her €10 instead of the €25 ransom she's demanded along with a reminder of how much we drink at each meeting. Yes we are lame. We are a prime example of why writers need agents, or mafia back-up, or something. On the other hand, I got very good feedback on four poems, none of which I quite know what to do with. And while that hasn't changed it does feel good having aired them out. It would be a shame if this workshop collapses.
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I have shepherded the angels into their pyjamas and through a round of tooth brushing. Lights out and now for the whispering and giggling. What's that quote at the end of "Stand By Me"? "You never have friends like you do when you are 12..." Or in Clover's case, 9 nearly 10.... Lichfield is out rooting for the big reds so it's just me and David Copperfield from here on out. That's all... See you next week on Tuesday Night Live.