He came to our home with my Grandmother. He went and he never came back. Masked, but without one. He gave my sister and I each a five dollar bill. Or was it 10? One of a series of portraits. No transatlantic accent attempted. Alongside meditations on poet George Best, Henry VIII and John Keats (give Keats a chance). An afternoon of revelling in each other and in language. Devised for adults but of interest to some nine-year-olds. Just sit backwards and let your front soak up the wash of rhyme.
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