Give the guy a break

Not knowing is what drives us, yes?

Well then that would explain society’s obsession (it has well and truly gone past the point of it being an ardent search) when it comes to the bard himself.

Like saying it’s going to be “an early spring” every year we seem to not be able to get enough of questioning whether or not old Will was the hand that wrote all our favourite (or detested if they bring up memories of school) plays and sonnets that,, I imagine, made some of you fantasise that a boy could do that to you, in instead of the loyal “Roses are red...” or, nothing at all.

The new film Anonymous covers this subject, mind you it also covers that the Virgin Queen was more a harlot than a nun.

I don’t mind the ideas behind the film, and I will probably go and see it, as I devour a period, and twisting the history knickers in a knot films the same way I am with gelato. 

Blink and you’ll miss it.

But why can’t we let it rest? This fascination that Will didn’t write the plays, or the sonnets? What do we gain from knowing? It is not as if the words will magically change.

There are some out there that dislike, or merely don’t understand the legacy of these works of pure art, but perhaps without the emphasis and constant focus on who is, or isn’t the bloody author, we might all grow to appreciate these ors because we are not preoccupied!

I think today we need to, like friends with benefits I suppose, accept it for what is, and love it for that. There needn’t be anymore questioning on the matter, for after all it takes away from the entire experience.

There is a time for questioning, and there is a time for questioning.