Monday, 7 November 2016

A Blessed Escape.

I was reminded tonight of a woman I once knew who asked me what sort of music I liked. I said I liked all sorts of music, but had a particular fancy for Gaelic folk music, which I did at the time. She agreed enthusiastically, and offered the opinion that there was nothing more stirring than the massed pipes and drums of a Scottish marching band. She also had white carpet throughout her house.

Put the two facts together and it should be obvious why I made an orderly but hasty retreat when it became apparent that she had designs on me. She was quite well off and I could have been assured of a materially comfortable life, but I swear my body would have outlived my soul. And what doth it profit a man…

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