Ultimatums arise, spread wings and words selected by energies:
Listen; The mercury is resolved. Beneath my hand Earth passes
a quick shadow, recollects the distinction of breath. New feathers
find warm wing to grow from. Cup and juice, Earth and seed, are
one. The secret is the grip. By the finger nails if need be. Mostly
by one corner of the mind, an edge where roots strike, curl like a
rattler. Sometimes the heart’s enough.
All writers have that one bugaboo story that refuses to finish. It’s as though the damned thing has something against you, and would do anything to mess with you, even to the point of sacrificing its chance of appearing anywhere in the Universe. My bugaboo story is called Renfield and the TomTom Ghost. It has been in production for two years, yet not even a hundred words have been “shot.”
Well here we go again. We are at Week 222.
I’ve had a bit of time on my hands over the weekend and I’ve come to a few conclusions.
It’s time for another Saturday Special but Diane will come to that later.
So not so much nonsense as normal.
‘How long have I been your doctor?’
‘About twenty years.’
‘And you’ve never mentioned this to me?’
‘That you’ve got a problem.’
‘I’ve no problem.’
The sickness in this world continues.
Our thoughts are with all those involved with the atrocity in Sri Lanka.
Before we start, I would like to congratulate Mr Woods on his Masters win. I’ve mentioned before that he was a mad shagger and I stand by that. But to have the natural drive to look for birdie after birdie by sinking a few long ones is an amazing achievement. (Shame on any of you if you tittered. Or even more shame if you didn’t see that coming!!)