Saturday, 11 March 2017


When you’re a writer – by inclination at least, if not profession – having nothing to say is a heavy cross to carry. But so it has been for me for the past couple of days.

I could have told the story of another bit of instant karmic reward to which I was treated on Wednesday, but it was only worth 90p in monetary terms so it seemed a bit trivial.

I could have related the fact of my going into a sort of shut down state last night (or was it the night before?), presumably as a final physical act of submission to fifteen years of continual (though not quite continuous) stress. But I seem to have bounced back now so why dwell on it?

It might be worth publishing the following picture of somebody who was once a big player in my life without saying who it is, so people can mumble: ‘Why the hell does he publish anonymous pictures? What’s the point? Is he a complete idiot, or what?’ and I can answer 1. ‘Because it amuses me to be irritatingly cryptic,’ 2. 'Because I'm proud of her and proud to have had her good opinion at one time,' and 3. ‘Probably.’

And there was one other thing that amused me a couple of days ago but which I forgot to mention. I read that Little Nigel (Farage, that is) was complaining that he and Donald Trump are ‘the most vilified people in the world.’ Well, it probably isn’t quite true, but let’s be kind and allow him his Little Delusion since there's nothing else to fuel the poor chap's need to feel important.

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