Perhaps I'm more intrigued with the ghost of John Simon Ritchie - useless musician, drug addict, spiteful bully, sneering poster boy - than I imagine? He returns to haunt me only ever once a year; I hear his rattling padlocked chain and the drag of those stolen engineer boots before I see him. Oh, but I … Continue reading Tea Stained.
29/01/20 Oh, to live in the world of The Waltons! I see now that this has always been a dream of mine. Not so much the poverty (though our levels of economic living are most probably comparable), but the simplicity of the hours, the years; the honest home cooking; the passing down of the clothes … Continue reading dream diaries…80
“It’s so cold I go to bed with a nipple on. I wake up with one, too.” “Just the one?” I ask. But, yeah, it has been pretty cold this week. Little Annie has been in search of a higher purpose, for some kind of meaning, for awhile now. "Something has to change." … Continue reading Askew In The Saddle.
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