Where did the salad days go? Why are we
allowed so short a time to be crisp green leaves of sweetest lettuce, dew-picked
at dawn and accompanied by fresh, plump spring onions just dying to join us on
the plate of life? How do we come to resemble the mouldering remains of a
long-abandoned cheese board, fragments of foetid blue and white crumbs awaiting
our ignominious fate while the dancing goes on elsewhere?
I apologised to her for the ordeal, of course. Spending ten
minutes of her young life sucking water from my mouth – this mouth which now
spouts words aplenty but is good for little else – while Ms Medeea did the
sanding job must have been awful. And then we agreed that bodies are pretty
disgusting things when you really stop and think about them.
Perception is the
whole of the life experience…
…is my maxim. Must try harder to remember.
(And the phrase 'dew-picked at dawn' is one I borrowed from a Monty Python sketch, just so you know how honest I am.)
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