You know those goosebumps you get when the opening line to a song pokes you right in the chest? Good poets speak from the heart and get right to the heart. I know Billy has been at it a few years now but, seriously, how does he have a such an unobscured window on my life?
Aside from resonating with the distinct lack of do-it-yourselfery that Mr Bragg sings about, the clever wordplay that turns awful pottery into perfect poetry makes me think that he too has been shouted at by “her indoors” for making a mess of something that should be so simple to do.
So instead of bothering to lift a finger to put up wallpaper next weekend, I’m going to sit back in my armchair and quote Billy’s advice:
I know it looks like I’m just reading the paper/ but these ideas I’ll turn to gold dust later/ ’cause I’m a writer, not a decorator/I’m not your handyman.
(Song recommendation by Lee D Thompson)