Dove on dish.
The humid air begins to condense and a few big drops of rain splash on to the path in front of the house.
As I switch on the radio I hear the comforting voice of Alan Bennett reading from the House at Pooh Corner. No one could read it better. Unfortunately I am only in time to hear the ending... "With a nod of his head to his friend he went on with his walk through the forest."
6 comments:
Agreed. That's the recording that got my D caught on those stories.
(o)
:)
One reason I renounced my birthplace is because when someone with a West Riding accent opens their mouth I can never imagine something witty, profound or tangential ensuing. Mercifully, I am unable to hear myself. Alan Bennett is of course the exception; his accent hints at lightly-worn wisdom, sympathy and a talent for comfort. If I ever wrote a half-decent poem the greatest reward would be to have him read it.
BB: Alan Bennett would read your poem with sympathy and at the same time an understanding of its author's reticence. You can never imagine the owner of that voice trying to dominate. It reflects his personality - a modest man who who would rather listen than talk, reason than shout.
Have you heard him reading The Wind in the Willows? Comfort indeed. Also, may I introduce my Pa? He's just written a small post about Mr Bennett..........
http://little-corner-of-the-earth.blogspot.com/2009/05/little-bit-of-alan-bennett.html
H: Yes indeed. No one could do it better. Thanks for the introduction, which I shall follow up.
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