The little blue tits which nest in the nest box at the back
of my house were building a nest prematurely.
Tonight’s episode of House
ended prematurely. Why was cutthroat bitch (aka Amber) on the bus with House
when it crashed? Wilson
is so panic-stricken he can’t articulate his words properly. (I’ve been there –
once. That’s exactly how it is.) How the hell could they roll the credits while
we’re dangling on a frayed rope above the alligator pit and waiting for the guy
in the wheelchair to find and fetch a ladder? How can I know that the
vicissitudes of life won’t find some way of preventing me from watching the
next episode? Damn. I need a drink.
(Oh, I’ve got a drink.
OK.)
* * *
My old friend the llama was watching me attentively when I
woke up this morning. I asked him ‘where the hell did you spring from?’ He drew
his head back and frowned. ‘Spring?’ he said. ‘Spring? I resent the implication that llamas are in the habit of springing. The very concept of springing
is one with which llamas are relatively unfamiliar, and the prospect of
engaging in such an action far too remote to be worthy of consideration. Are
you sure you’re quite well?’ And then I went back to sleep.
* * *
Did you know that I’m quite a lot madder than I probably appear on
this blog? The blog is my grounding mechanism when the weather smiles a false smile
and a state of prematurity weaves cobwebs in the mind.
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