Oddments and the Colour of Voices.

When I was a kid my impatient nature was forever being addressed by that hoary old saying: Good things come to those who wait. I grew to have faith in the statement until the email was invented. 

The priestess is currently wandering the cold mountains of Nepal.

I keep on having the first two lines of a new ditty drop into my head. They’re very promising, too, but I find myself quite unable to complete them. It seems that a part of my brain on which I have come greatly to rely over recent years is being blocked by a mysterious force.

I talked at some length today to the ghost of the Lady B. Her replies were reticent as usual.

I read about some research which has established that magic mushrooms really are good for you, but the researchers advise us not to eat any until they have extracted the magical ingredient and formed it into an expensive pill.

No attack by the ravening black dog last night. I didn’t expect one.

I’ve been noticing lately what beautiful voices Japanese women have. They’re smooth, well modulated, quietly sensual, and the colour of new butterscotch. The priestess is part Japanese.

The Lady B’s erstwhile host also had a beautiful voice, but it was higher – more the colour of well ripened barley. It, too, was well modulated, but more direct and mature than quietly sensual. And it demonstrated an uncommon clarity of diction which allowed no excuse for repetition, while hinting at that velvet quality of feminine assertiveness which defines the value of the distaff.

The cerise hue of times past can be unsettling when the mud through which you’re attempting to trudge is becoming thicker.