Poets day

It was a bit draughty at today’s Poets’ Convention.  This allowed them to make free with metaphors and one even managed to intertwine the EU referendum with gusts of cold politics.  I noticed that the Poets also had quite a variety of things that they called for to eat.  However not one of them touched the cold collation, although there was some light banter about connections between crisp rye breads and the Warsaw Concerto.  Although I couldn’t see the connection I acted naturally and asked one of them what rhymes with Piobaireachd. 

I have now danced three times in the last 24 hours - however I didn’t mention this to the poets.

The title of this is not trying to invoke the spirit of R.I.P or David Nobbs himself.