Hello and welcome to episode thirty-six of Prose.
This week, get a lesson in the light at the end of that tunnel and hope for something worth having in old age.
Instead of taking two weeks off for my summer course at Oxford, I have elected to have some shorter offerings here on Prose. So, for episodes thirty-six and thirty-seven, do keep this in mind. Additionally, these episodes are coming to you having been preprogrammed, so I pray that all is well with them upon delivery. I also hope that you will all forgive me for not rushing the next edition of “Sonbol” out to you. I don’t want to mar the story, hence the slow going.
In prosepodcast.com news, the website it back up and 98% functional. I hope that makes at least a handful of you fans happy!
Patreon, though, is still in development. As I’ve explained ad nauseam, I don’t plan on asking for even a penny of listeners’ hard-earned money without providing something in return.
As per always, I toss out the entreaty for all of you to follow along on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, as this can help the podcast get noticed. Even more importantly, please go to iTunes and leave a rating and/or review for Prose. Ratings and reviews set this show up for continuing into the future.
That’s enough blathering. Let’s get to the offerings, shall we?
This week, we have “” and “Growing Old” by Lord Byron.