Missing You Already

Well, not exactly. I’d been so waiting for ages to shake the dust from my feet that when time was nigh to perform the actual deed, I was beguiled into not doing so, which is why I’m publishing this post tonight, lest I forget at eight past three p.m. on 29th June I abandoned  those horrid, horrid, rotten creatures to their fate—and was born anew. Ta-ta! I hope not to see you tomorrow, nor next year, nor in heaven, nor anyfuckingwhere. In a year or so I hope to feel as carefree and blasé as the model on page 68 of Clare Barnes, Jr’s Sleeping Under Blankets below. Just without the black drop.


10.07.07. Diary, Humour.

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