A few years ago I came across Edmund Davie a poet sitting along the Thames with a small table a sheaf of paper an ancient typewriter.
On the spot, I could choose a theme he would tap tap tap a poem for me. I didn’t do it. And suffered a twinge of regret every time I was in the area. Yesterday! There he sat! But it was cold. “It only takes minutes.” “The Future” then.
On the South Bank - In front of the Tate Modern, Something inserted and removed itself from my unknown wish list.