I know it’s ludicrous, but I read Rumi, and I cry and cry and cry, and then I pick up the book and start reading again. He’s just the most amazing creature – a living breathing ecstatic poet, 800 years dead.
Enough of that. I have determined that Bob Dylan’s New Year’s Day is the next tune I will be writing down, in honour of his ‘detention’ in Jersey. Murphy, but I hope he writes a song about it.
