The Times Online is currently offering to send subscribers a love letter written by a different author each day this week.
Since I love being loved, I was looking forward to receiving my first lettres d'amour. And this morning there it was, sitting in my inbox as neat and perfect as a little gold two-pack of truffles. And from Margaret Atwood, nonetheless!
Unfortunately, the 'roses are red' variety of love poem has more spirit, desire and promise in its lines than the prosaic roll-of-eyes offered by Atwood.
Here's a sample of the 'love':
You can usually spot me at the Bar Mercurio, an establishment I've singled out in tribute to my patron god, Mercury, alias Hermes. He's the ruler of communication and charm - you can see why I'd want those attributes - and also of trickery and lies, which can come in handy as well. My other patron is Aphrodite, goddess of Looove. That can be sticky, as the two of them don't get on very well. For Hermes, a roll in the hay is a roll in the hay, after which he's on his way with no tears shed. If he has to do a cunning imitation of being lost in love, he'll do it, but that's all it will be - a cunning imitation. Description, for him, is an end in itself: not for nothing has he been called the Dancing King of the Adjective.It's like a textual antidote to Prozac.
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