The morning after the Brennivin before was slow and involved a false start, but the afternoon picked up with a little added Thomas: International Dylan Day. A motley collection of poets and writers in a pub in Leeds, trying (very successfully in most cases) not to look like they had anything to do with the Leeds half-marathon (finishing line outside the front door). Reading selected pieces from Mr Thomas’s works, most avoided sliding into dodgy attempted accents, some were genuinely moving, a couple were funny and even the pub managed to give us some Dylan (Bob) as accompaniment; a thoroughly pleasant afternoon all told. I even forgot about feeling sick, such are the curative powers of poetry.

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