PS Cottier

So you’ve laboured over a poem, and it’s as near to finished as it will ever be.  So you upload it and pay the fee for a comp, and sit back and have a cup of tea (or coffee, or wine, depending on the time).

So you realise that you sent a draft, and that draft was over the line limit.  So you refill the form with the proper poem uploaded, and ask if it can be substituted.  So you kick your computer and yourself.  So you don’t know if the poem will be disqualified.  So you may never know!

So you have a glass of wine, and stuff the time.  Wine is the only cure for idiocy.

So you are not as celebratory as the woman in the picture.

UPDATE:  So on the way down to your favoured wine place, you remember that you are picking up your daughter from school later on, and therefore, that you can’t drink.  Let middle class sulking erupt like an erupty thing!  (You maintain you are working class, but people tend to laugh when you say that.)  So you vent on your blog like a whingey Vesuvius.

UPDATIER: The lovely administrators have accepted the second submitted version of my poem.  Drinking in celebration is so much nicer!  (Please read with slightly slurred eyes.)