Pre - prandial thoughts on Stephen Fry

Lying by the pool, an inviting body of water like a large emerald kidney shimmering in the Andalucian sol , my thoughts drifted between grilled swordfish and Stephen Fry's controversial new book , 'The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within.' Having seen him on television last night talking about it, saying that anyone who can speak and read the English language can write poetry, I looked it up , as unfortunately there are no real English bookshops in the nearby vicinity.


Stephen Fry believes that '' poetry is a primal impulse within us all '' and the book is about writing poetry, full of various tools for the reader, claiming it will make writing poetry, ''fun, easy, satisfying, fulfilling and delightful". He says '' I have a dark and dreadful secret. I write poetry.'' He gives his own examples of all the different forms and styles , from the Petrarchan sonnet to the villanelle, arguing in favour of the traditional forms refering to his haiku as '' worthless arse-dribble '' ! This is one book I will not be reading despite my utmost respect for Stephen Fry's cornucopia of etymological knowledge, wit, intellect and an ability to do many things well, as I never really been very interested in poetry and don't share the belief that it is a primal impulse within us all.


The book is a patronising finger up the established modern poets of the day saying, '' it is a wonder that any considerable poetry has been written in the last 50 years .'' Fry refers to the "free-form meanderings " of modern poets as '' emotional masturbation'' ! I also think that saying that anyone who can speak English can write poetry is a bit like saying anyone with a hand can paint. Anyone can paint, even Congo the chimpanzee can paint, but not everyone can paint well. Nevertheless I'm sure that for the aspiring poets out there this will be a very enjoyable book to read, being well written, well- researched and amusing for those who don't like modern poetry.

Tag: Stephen Fry

Palma and the Puro experience.

Palma is like a mini Barcelona, with its beautiful Modernist buildings, several similar street names, a semi-cosmopolitan feel with plenty of smart cafes, art galleries and restaurants. The ''Old Town '' near the big Gothic cathedral, La Seu , has been gentrified with spruced up buildings and new smart shops. Interspersed in the labyrinth of cobbled streets, some very narrow in parts, there several old palacios with their courtyards open to display. Seems that several of them are for sale at the moment.

Checked into the Puro Hotel, Palma's new bastion of chic, a 14th century palace beautifully converted to a boutique hotel ''blending modern ethnic elements with bohemian chic and Mediterrannean exotism.'' Within the Oasis Urbano is Opio, its restaurant where we ate a delicious mix of highly overpriced Asian-Med cuisine. Opio is dripping with long strands of shells threaded on jute from floor to ceiling, pristine virgin white splendour with the odd splash of red on the cushions. Looking down from the Opio is the Puro bar with its ''Bargrooves '' beat, hosting an assortment of Eurotrash, old codgers with the odd Russian hooker, a gaggle of doggy drunk English girls who arrived, emitting a shrill cackle that grew worse as the evening went on, three Mallorcan preppy pricks, a swarm of Polish beerboys that entered and departed within minutes. Perhaps the off-season dross ? relieved to hear less German chatter in general....

Scuttled off upto our 'Superior Flow' room , a white airconditioned temple of silence away from the madding crowd below,festooned with several bright cushions made from Rajasthani saris, hand carved Burmese sliding doors, white parrot feather hats from the Bandjon tribes in Cameroon adorned the bedheads, complimenting the white guinea goose feather lamps, with the Purobeat humming gently from the Bose sound system.

Spent the next day in the luxury of the Purobeach .


Tuesday 12th:
At breakfast, saw a bleary-eyed hungover Hammond of Top Gear fame, his hair not spiked, hiding behind a Herald Tribune. Checked out with great memories of Mallorca as a beautiful civilised island with a great mixture of beach, countryside,and city. Shame its so polluted full of fucking Germans !!

Tags: Palma de Mallorca + Puro Hotel + Bargrooves

El Barragon Xeleni , Deià

In the Barragón Xelini, a busy tapas bar, an old English queer lasciviously seduces an ernest young bespectacled diner.The Redhead says he (ernest) will get hurt and bruised in the dodgem car of life, or meet an earnest young girl. I think he will more likely end up disillusioned with an earnest life, sodomizing the village idiot after several Jägermeisters shattering all semblance of his innocence against a stony wall under the starry Mallorcan sky.

Under the Pepper Tree

The Devil sits on a whitewashed wall under a pepper tree, masturbating furiously.He ponders on the night’s excessive foray up the chocolate highway at 154 m.p.h. on his brimstone steed, leaving a wake of sore rectitude in his trail. As he sits sucking on a lemon-lime, a cigarillo dangling off his lip, he smiles in priapic bliss, sweat pouring from his brow .... dripping onto his rig. Another 15 minutes of shaking his bone, he points at a ripe fig by his feet and shoots white jasmine glory, the fig sizzles red picante as he leans over backwards in momentary ecstacy and falls off the wall.

First night in Deià : Western Mallorca

Deià acquired its name ad-daia (hamlet ) in the 10th-11th centuries . Later in 1239 the philosopher Ramón Llull founded his missionary school there. In the 16th century the village expanded. Fishing, olive oil, citrus fruit and sheep farming flourished and the population grew to 1500.

Cut to 2005 : Arrival in Mallorca at 7p.m. , zoomed to Deià on the western coast, a Mediterranean paradise by the sea resplendent in bougainvillea, royal palms and an abundance of incredible ancient olive trees with thick gnarled trunks ... stone houses with tiled roofs ... a breathtaking view of the sea with its jagged sharp rocky coastline and loads of coves, the water cobalt with irridescent turquoises splashes, bedecked with sea pines , a luminous green.

It seems that Mallorca is one of or the first place in Spain to ban smoking in restaurants, as I found to my horror when I asked for an ashtray, and they all talk in intrepidation of January 2006 when the absurd, anal ley will be passed banning smoking in all public places. Deià's beauty is shattered with the constant, vile guttural tones of hordes of fucking middle-class Germans which seems to be crawling out of the woodwork, apparent from the tri-lingual menus in almost every restaurant. Pouring with rain .............

Tags: Deià + Mallorca