As amusing as the Milwaukee
bimbo episode was (and I’m ashamed to admit that I did chuckle a couple of
times,) I was never much attracted to bimbos myself. That isn’t meant as a
criticism. They were very good to look at and had effervescent personalities an’
all, but… well… they weren’t exactly the Holy Grail, were they? I was more the
guy with the speech cards telling Keira Knightley how perfect she was, and how
he’d love her until she looked like a desiccated mummy (which is how I know he
probably wouldn’t.)
I’ve said it before, and it bears repeating, that romantics
generally get through life fairly well, whereas Romantics are almost invariably
sad people. They have an unfortunate habit of riding after mirages until the
snow is thick on the ground, all their friends are hanging lifeless from sundry
trees in wild places, and they only remain standing because they’ve become too
insane to give in gracefully and fall over. It’s all pretty inevitable, actually.
* * *
Talking of mirages and insanity, the village pub is planning
to open all day on Sunday for St Patrick’s Day (with live music, no less.) I
haven’t yet decided whether to stick my head around the door, but I’m reminded
that I only ever knew two people who were born on St Patrick’s Day. Although
neither was perfect, they were both pretty impressive, albeit in different
ways.
* * *
The only big news worth recounting today is that the priestess
is home from America.
She said she went on a ‘gallery crawl’ a couple of nights ago and came back on
a train. It’s odd how somebody saying they’ve been on a train makes them
somehow more real. I haven’t worked that one out yet. Should I call across the
miles, I wonder, or keep to my place? Yeah, OK.
No comments:
Post a Comment