A Veritable Mother of Rambles.

It seems I have nothing to say tonight about beer, women, politics, social issues, religion, birds, music, Americans, New York, Chinese ghosts, Romanticism, the weather, garden matters, Shire matters, the future of the planet, Lord of the Rings, the trials of being an HSP type, the human condition, strange happenings, or lettuce sandwiches.

So, being at a loose end, I looked up people-born-on-the-same-day-as-me on one of those astrological websites. I don’t place very much credence on such things, but it did come uncannily close. It said that we 28^th November people are difficult to get to know because we’re so moody and changeable, but we’re quite nice people really. Well, that’s more or less what it said. It also said that we open our mouths before our brains are in gear, which some people find refreshingly honest, but others find insufferably rude. I remember talking to a woman about astrology once, and she asked me what Leos are like. ‘Expert bullshitters,’ I replied. Well, you can guess, can’t you? She never spoke to me again. Come to think of it, I never saw her again, so maybe that’s why. I did see her daughter a couple of times, though, and she was very strange­ – and I mean strange in a disturbing way. She had the most frighteningly diabolical eyes I’ve ever seen. I honestly suspected she wasn’t human. Really! I did!

Right now I feel like I might have been one of those wandering mediaeval intellectuals in a past life, the ones who travelled around Europe writing poems and songs and poking fun at the locals. It’s a collection of their works that make up Carmina Burana. Bet you didn’t know that, did you? Ignorant lot. Neither did I until yesterday. They weren’t well liked, apparently, which probably explains my social insecurity.

On which note, I think I might be on the verge of becoming a low-cost version of Howard Hughes. Oh well, at least I won’t have to cut my finger nails any more.

And I have no idea why I’m saying any of this, much less posting it. I suppose it’s because if I have a maxim at all, it would be ‘when all else fails, write something.’ And if I’m going to write something, I might as well pin it to the board.

I just listened to Maria Callas singing Habanera. She’s a bit too overcooked for my taste, but I always did have difficulty with Sagittarian women. I think I’ll go back to YouTube and see whether I can find a nice Pisces lady to sing to me instead. I lived with two of those – not at the same time – but neither of them sang. They yelled a lot, but never sang.

I found one: Angela Gheorghiu. It doesn’t give her birthday, but it says she’s Romanian. That’s OK, then. My dentist is Romanian. Best dentist I ever had. So Angela it is.

I think it’s time I stopped rambling and fetched another scotch.

…but in 1916, the country said ‘Son,

It’s time to stop rambling

There’s work to be done.’

So they gave me a tin hat

And they gave me a gun

And they sent me away to the war

Somebody shoot me, please.

Here’s Angela, by the way. Note the upper canines…