I have to come and spoil the day. 'Oh Jacques, where hath thou been?', I hear the masses voice in unison. If you're sitting comfortably, then I may commence.

In the past six weeks or so, I've been at a poetry convention, appreciating the life and times of Katri Vala, argued by many to be the greatest Finnish poet of her time. And, to an extent, I have to agree. Although her work is not as extensive as Keats, Wilde or even Burns for that matter, the beauty is still there.

One has to argue: Was "To Autumn" such a masterpiece when compared to "Paluu"? I say not. The dark tone is supreme. "To Autumn", whilst being seen as a masterpiece for its three perfect stanzas, does not compare, dear reader.

I may only have been at the convention to charge admission at the door, but I know what I'm talking about.