I was in an off-license on Saturday, and the man in the queue in front of me was buying twelve cans of Dutch Gold. When he reached the counter, he fumbled in his pocket to get his wallet and two condoms fell out and landed on the floor, unnoticed. I debated for a moment about whether to point them out to him, and eventually tapped him on the shoulder and said that he had "dropped something". He looked down and chuckled, and while picking them up, gave me an amiable slap on the knee and said "thanks mate". I would have thought that drinking twleve cans of Dutch Gold would more or less preclude the need for condoms...

Apparently staying up late to revise poems gave Yeats diarrhoea. I'm not sure why exactly, but this image is very appealing and amusing to me. The worlds of poetry and scatology don't collide often enough, I suppose.