Cycling, Classified, Poems, Burns & Engels and Love's Executioner

Ever since I got my bicycle a couple of months ago I've noticed articles and cycling campaigns everywhere. Today's Observer Review has a feature on cycling, including a group of retro fashionista cyclists! I put my bike in for a service yesterday morning because in the short time I've had it I've trashed it somewhat. I went crashing into a car a few weeks after getting it and broke the rear mud-guard, and then the chain guard became buckled so......and I'm getting it back tomorrow, hopefully feeling all brand new again, in time to cycle into the west end. Yesterday it was off to Tate Britain, not to the usual Pre-Raphaelites, but to Classified, billed as a 'rare chance to see exceptional works by today's leading artists'. The Chapman brothers collection of Ronald McDonald African type artefacts was both aptly dark and sinister but most other works left me somewhat cold, save for a dark brown block painting of tree trunks, though I forget the name of the artist.
Today I asked a few friends what their favourite poem was and, so far, it's interesting to note that there was Robbie Burns, Cavafy, and (me) Yeats, and no surprise to learn that the first friend hails from Scotland, the second has his roots in Greece, and my own are, half at least, in 'that part' of Ireland. Is this cultural loyalty? It will be interesting to see what other poems are picked, if at all.
And glad to report that I'm getting back into the swing of Mary Burns, halfway through Mary and Fred's first evening together. It really makes me wonder just what it was like for them both, he, young and in a strange city, the son of a mill owner, yet staunchly socialist already, she, spirited and principled and no doubt trying to keep body and soul together whilst always on the hunt for the next bit of work and yet they come together, something clicks and ...! Away from the heady heights of love/lust to my second Yalom book in a week, Love's Executioner & Other Tales of Psychotherapy. Not sure how disturbed I should be at relating to some of the stories but there you go, I put it down to a heightened sense of self-awareness! I like Yalom's frankness, the tales are just as much about his own stuff as those he treats.
Onwards...

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