'Did you know, the sixth of October is National Poetry Day.'
'What happens, then?'
'Poetry comes back.'
'From exerting, says Tigger, an indescribable but nourishing glow in the collective psyche.'
'So from lying down the back of the sofa till someone says, hang on, where's Poetry?'
'Well, he does forget his medicine sometimes.'
'Does it know it's the sixth? I mean, might it turn up late.'
'It might do, but that's allowed, apparently.'
'But this year there's lots of support for it. Their BBC is promoting it in a big way.'
'Ah…so that'd be Huw Edwards reciting 'Three Blind Mice' just before 'the news wherever you are…if you know where you are…and if you're halfway between where and where else, you get a double helping. Ta for the licence fee.'
'Even better. They've got those ladies from Strictly Locate and Flog doing some famous poems. Like that one…oh…the one about calorie-count anxiety.'
'The Waist Land.'
'Yes. They do a double-act.'
'Well there's a thing. How does it start?'
'Erm.. So April is, like, totally the ever-so-not-nicest month.
Oh, yes, as it goes…lilacs get bred
Shut the back door! Out of what?
Out of land that's not living.
You mean land like Prince and Bowie?
I so do.
'I can't wait, Piglet.'
'Of course you can, Pooh.'