I sing as chosen by Joanna Lumley about 8 minutes in...
The daffodils I bought opened overnight. They're more flat leaf than trumpet. I knew I should have turned right rather than left on the abandoned railway and bought a bath mat.
An email from Kiki in Walberswick saying that she went online and listened to Joanna Lumley's Desert Island Discs, and hearing my dear, unadorned (what?!) voice was like turning in the lane and seeing the first crocuses, or lambs - or realising that, yes, the days were really lengthening. She hopes I will sing at the Hippodrome gig as she's planning on being there.
I've been helpfully paraphrasing: '...turning in the lane and seeing the first muntjac's scavenged carcass, the Thorpeness ladies golf four doing execrable things with high-vis, fuchsia unwashable nylon shorts - the village idiot singing "Oh, God our Help in Ages Past" masturbating with a still bloodily pulsating ear stuck in his arse crack.