Well, the old brain, after a week of severe pummelling, is not co-operating for the smutty-drink naming session, so I'l just burble instead.burbleburbleburbleburbleburbleburbleburble -
Life is still insane city, with outlying hamlets of absurdity, followed by the odd ranting hooligan farm. Despite my direst protestations, Dadstuff is still infiltrating every facet of my existence, slowly but surely edging everything else out, like a big, fat, sweaty Cuckoo. Welcome to "your life is not yours any more".
Two words keep flitting into my mind:
World Tour.
Just me, a couple of music-playing buds, and a van full of instruments, for the next twelve months, leaving a single answerphone message:
I have gone. Sod off and sort it out yourself.
That should do the trick.
Life: Hate it or ignore it - you'd be mad not to loathe it.
On a lighter note, on my way back from the most scintillating meeting of the century (discussing the merits of different fonts on brochure covers - Lord help me, my head is going to explode, and I'm going to perform pirouettes around this shabby little diner, tweeting like a sparrow), I passed a sign saying Macclesfield: 10 miles, so wound down the window and shouted "HELLO, RUTH!!!" at the top of my voice, to the accompanied strange looks of my fellow motorists and a couple of startled pedestrians.
Tonight, I feel like an extended Buffy marathon (with a quick break for Black Books), but instead, I have another rehearsal. Still, I will have fun when I get there; I just reserve the right to grumble on the way, once in a while.
grumblegrumblegrumblegrumblegrumble
That said and done, I still haven't any inspiration for the question, so I'm gonna go do some e-mailing.
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I am the sunlight on the sides of houses.