Now and the Priestess.

Having wasted much valuable time considering whether the concept of ‘now’ has any existential validity, I thought I’d make up for it by concocting a very small ditty called What Time is it in Sydney?

‘What time is it in Sydney?’

Said the bed bug to the flea

‘Are all the folks there sleeping safe and sound?’

‘It might be half past nine, my friend

It might be just turned three

Their ups and downs are all the wrong way round’

It should come as no surprise that there’s more meaning (damn that word) hidden within it than might appear at first glance. I can’t help it, you know. I can’t.

(I got the cold beer, by the way.)