The genius of Palmers Green, at home her whole life long. A bit like Emily Dickinson and Marianne Moore, also T.S. Eliot in that she worked at a publishing house.

A modest, suburban existence, a modest, suburban film. The two coincide with miraculous precision and there you have the poetess, her wit and works, her philosophy of existence, a Roman of the Gibbon school who’ll have no Ave Maria but tells the Queen when asked that poems just come to one even while Hoovering.