Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
What a drag it is...
The opposite of a bad dream.
A young woman with long, dark hair and strikingly blue eyes looks at me in a way which makes me think she - or I - must be mad. A way which I haven't been looked at for about 40 or so years, then I realise I am dreaming again. Nevertheless she approaches me and - ignoring bad teeth, eye-bags and white hair - she embraces me.
This is better than losing H.I. in some vast, inhospitable town, I think. All I have to do now is stay lucid.
A more wistful sort of melancholy.
It's blowing a Westerly tempest outside right now - very cosy as I go to bed.