Woke up this afternoon (I'm working nights in case you think I'm just dead lazy) to a lovely voicemail from Tullamore informing me that I had come fourth in the Tullamore Agricultural Show inaugural poetry competition. The competition was judged by the highly discerning Connie Roberts, of PK and Dromineer fame. Who says sucking up to judges doesn't help, Michael? (I hasten to add, should I be inadvertently impugning Connie's impeccable reputation, that judging was as usual completely anonymous)
I had been a bit concerned about this competition because I had had a phone call asking me which competition I was entering. And a fortnight before, I received a packet with a lot of Exhibitor stickers to affix to my car when arriving!
Anywhere, the cheque, apparently, is in the post, along with a certificate, for which I am very grateful. Ten euro apparently. Who said there's no money in poetry?
Yay! Spend it on something appropriate. what was the poem about?
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