Sunday, 21 September 2014

New poem


One of the most extraordinary expeditions

of all time occurred in 1854

when a group of explorers left London

on a bright summer’s day in July in

search of nothing. The leader of the expedition

was Sir Roland Whisper, a man

who had investigated nothing for longer

than any other person alive. For years

he had pored over maps and charts

with this great task in mind. He gathered

around him a team of fearless adventurers and

London’s finest journalists signed up to

Sir Roland’s team on the off chance

that they might be the first writer to send

back to London the report that a great

Englishman had discovered nothing.

And so, with their eyes fixed on the

distant horizon, the plucky little expedition

boat sailed out of the Pool of London.

On quayside, wives, friends and well-

wishers bid them godspeed, hoping and

praying that the expedition would be

a success. The sails of the boat

disappeared from view, expectation

was high and though one or two of those

waving goodbye might have been beset

with the occasional doubt, none could

have predicted that not a single member

of the expedition would ever return.

As a result, no one knows whether

Sir Roland’s expedition force did or

did not achieve the great prize of

finding nothing.