Ladies & Gentlemen I have a short speech to make; happily you will know that it is not written in verse, because that would be a curse. It is a great privilege to realise that I am amongst Kings & Queens. Allow me to use a metaphor; the handy tool for us writers, for having our Christmas Meal on Consitional Hill seems to me the ideal image of writers. We perch up here together distant from the town & with an overview of it. We are Canaries flying over the town singing. We are Cockroaches heavily involved with the ground. We fly & we crawl returning back to the camp we have made on the hill looking out over what we have walked through. Of course where would the writer be without those who collect & organise the heard birdsong & the dead insect? We are fortunate to sit with, the coincidence appropriate, those collectors & organisers, the Library Staff. The writer assess the health of a culture, the writer is the last to survive. I have spent a happy year being in the company of Royalty & I hope for another happy year in the Kingdom of the Imagination & for another banquet in celebration of it. To everyone’s health of heart & mind I give a toast: Merry Christmas.
"A march of useful idoits."
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