Thursday, 2 June 2016

Something Moving on the Horizon.

My computer printer went on the blink today, so it seems I’m going to have to buy a new one. I suppose I can’t really complain since it’s at least eleven years old, but having just forked out for a computer rebuild and a new garden strimmer, I don’t really want the burden of further expense. Money is one of the things I don’t have very much of. (If I were in the right mood, I’d supply a list of things I don’t have very much of.)

Still, modern printers are multi-function these days which means I’ll have a scanner at long last, so I’ll be able to do what I’ve wanted to do for the past six years – bore the pants off people with old pictures of me doing interesting things like pulling funny faces, looking precocious, and posing with my arm around the shoulders of pretty girls (although that's one of the things I don’t have very much of, and two of the girls were wearing cowboy hats anyway.) I might even post the Looking Mean one. Maybe this unwelcome expense will even prove serendipitous, finally encouraging me to get the blog moving again. What better form of self-expression is there than getting the photo album out? It’s what aged aunts were made for.

In the meantime, I read an article today about Paul Simon’s new album. I have a lot of respect for Paul Simon because:

1. He and I are a lot alike in many ways, except that he wrote better lyrics than I did, and also wrote good music which I could never do.

2. My best friend at school was called Barry Haynes. I was 5ft 8, he was a little over 6ft. I had brown hair, he was blond. I was a little on the stocky side, he was built like a bean pole. All of which meant that when we were together we looked like a young version of Simon and Garfunkel. We even fell out and walked off in opposite directions occasionally, just as Paul and Art seem prone to doing. One such occasion was when he attracted the attention of the lovely Dorothy Parker and I didn’t, even though I could play a guitar and he couldn’t. I also wrote better than him, and probably still do. Maybe that’s how I acquired the conviction that a woman’s taste is not meant to be understood.

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