I have blog posts to write and e-mails to answer, but I’m
too tired. I had another of my classic five hours last night. Tomorrow will
have to do.
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I fell asleep in the bath for about fifteen minutes tonight,
but not before I’d had the gentlest of imaginings about coming to an accommodation
with somebody special – sitting on a stile next a gate, next a meadow, next a
wood. The sun shone from a clear sky, and the sun beaming from two sets of eyes
was more than just a reflection. Julie Fowlis is singing Bothan Airigh am
Braigh Raithneach as I write. It suits.
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I noticed earlier how much advertisers exaggerate, and even
generate, irrational fear as a means of persuading the gullible to buy their
product. I really don’t like advertisers very much. Governments do the same
thing.
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I want something to eat, but the richness of the Christmas
fare has deposited a little extra flesh around the middle of JJ, so I’m
resisting the urge. I have a glass in hand instead. And since it falls unto my
lot that I should rise and you should not...
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