I know I’ve said often enough that regret is pointless, but
now I’ve discovered something that counts. I watched a video on YouTube tonight
which reminded me that in all my life I never rescued a damsel in distress. (At
least, not real distress. I once rescued
a woman in the Lake District from two hefty sheep which were treading all over
her recumbent form while trying to steal her sandwich, but that’s not exactly a
fate worse than death is it?)
So if I’ve never rescued a damsel in distress, how can I expect to make my final journey to Avalon in the company of three legendary queens as is my fervent wish? I expect I’ll get a grey and grizzled ferryman instead, a creature with no sense of direction who will bore me rigid with trivial chit-chat, then take me to some desolate island entirely populated by celebrities engaged in making cookery shows for one of the lower orders of celestial TV. I could think of other versions of hell, but that would be near the top of the list.
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