Friday, 11 August 2017

At a Loss.

What the hell am I going to write about tonight? Having just read another of my own stories I’m in lyrical mood, but what has there been about today to sate the lyrical juices? Nothing. Summer continues to fade in the leafy lanes of the Shire, the flox flowers continue to scent the garden, the moths flitted and the bats flew close at twilight… But I’ve done all that.

And there hasn’t been much happening on the dumbass politicians front either. I’ve done Trump and North Korea to death and I’m growing ever wearier of Donald the Iddite’s ego. That man is becoming so tedious that I almost wish he would start WWIII so the human race could have the fresh start it desperately needs, but I would rather it happened peacefully.

And the Lady B’s ghost hasn’t visited for over a week. I do so miss the Lady B but I have no control over the revenant’s ramblings. It was ever thus with her human alter-ego back in the old days. And I’m not in the mood for earnest ruminations on whether the old are wiser than the young (except to say that I’m not at all certain they are.)

Ah well, best leave it at that then and hope some imp of curiosity leaps out from a dark corner when the beer and music flow later.

A later thought:

I forgot to mention recently that I read a story from Australia about a teenager whose feet were savagely attacked in the sea off Melbourne. Was it a shark? Nope. A saltwater crocodile? Nope. A Portuguese Man 'O War, maybe? Nope. Sea fleas. That's the sort of news report we need more of. Beats Trump and North Korea, doesn't it? (Maybe somebody could even persuade Donald to stick his head underwater in the sea off Melbourne.)

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