As the hopscotch nightmares of your indifferent sausage procurement device fade with the coming dawn and all the semi-permeable membranes of the alien cell structures of politician's brains slowly evolve into something even more mendacious, we find our own particular oscillations have been left unresolved.
Still, you do get a lot of that at this time of year, don't you?
So, anyway, let us see what we can do on this far from fine morning as the bare narrow winter entangles its wintery talons deep into our pubic hair.
Shall we play that game again?
The game where you dress up as a figure from my most cherished fantasies of rude and naughty ladies and I endeavour to play the part of someone you could find almost interesting, if not quite tolerable?
No?
Oh, well. It was only a thought. The best I can do at this time of year.
Just hang on a bit until the weather gets a little warmer, my little pencil case, and then you will see me bud, blossom and bloom into… well… into what remains of my - once-splendid - glory. It is all faded now, of course, after all these years of spanner abuse and pointlessly incautious substitute geography teacher stance adoption….
But, it is all I have… apart from the devices, the pomegranate… and the lotions.
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