To use the Glasgow vernacular, 'See thae bards? They're pure dead brilliant, so they are'. They're also rather demanding. They've been sitting roon ma' hoose all weekend, looking sorrowful and ireful alternately, in their long goonies, wi' their straggly unkempt hair and mournful clarsachs - broken strings an' a' - demanding that I pay them appropriate attention, notwithstanding my having had a migraine for three consecutive days. And will they even play me a tune? No.
With a view to enhancing my new book Chapter 5, I've looked at two texts on romantic poetry (as in, 1790-1830s, not the Valentine's Day kind of romantic). And now - to explain my reference to bards - I'm reading Trumpener's Bardic Nationalism, which I've been meaning to do for a long time. So that's all good.
I've also got my dining room strewn with Lowland Scots songs, trying to decide which to use as illustrations at appropriate points in my book. I've played a few on the piano, and done a few experimental scans, only one of which pleases me enough to be a candidate for the manuscript submission. Alas, a chaotic dining room is not good for a migraine, because the chaos flusters me, and that makes the headache worse.
To get away from both bards and Lowland Scots, I swam 32 lengths this morning. I'd like to be able to say that it helped, but sadly, it didn't.
I think I'll clear away the clutter and then get back to Trumpener. One thing at a time is more calming than excessive multitasking ...