Hello reader. Once more into the abyss I write, only this Friday it’s been long hand – not quite quill and parchment but getting there. Big Mac has choked, nearly croaked and lies in a critical condition waiting for restorative palliative care from Uncle Mike. Not that he’s my uncle you understand, but we are related and he’s particularly avuncular when it comes to ‘puters. Fingers crossed.
Sadly I fear there’s no such cure for my lyrical affliction, which particularly comes to the fore when doing the day job as a charity copywriter. Some people spot it and some don’t, depending on how obscure the reference and how musically informed they are. It’s a bit like TFI really, stating the obvious is all too easy sometimes. Don’t give yourself away.
I had a peculiar dream a few nights ago: I dreamt I was falling two miles, very fast, head first. As I fell, I decided that it would hurt much less to fall sideways. What happened next? Parachute?
The warmth of my friends keeps my body from rusting.
Mrs Mackerel x
Download Why? – Good Friday mp3 (from Alopecia)
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