We all know that the weasel hordes of indifference and ingratitude sweep majestically across the wide-open plains of the car parks of this once-proud nation. We forget that in days of yore this country had chip shops that were the very envy of the world.
And… yet.
And yet….
Still, I feel as though something throbs, something pulsates deep in the darkest recesses of the underwear of our souls. There awaits something that will grow once again to stand tall and proud, but only if we can find those gentle ministering fingers that know how to take hold of its uncertainty, take it in hand and stroke all these cares away.
If only.
If only.
But she is far, far away now, strolling alone, head bowed across the existential beach of her dreams while the sea of eternity slow creeps ever closer, even now beginning to lap around her ankles. Her thoughts are gone, way past those dunes where once we lay together through those long naked afternoons watching those languid clouds chasing each other across skies of deeper than forever blue.
And I?
I can only wonder if when she returns she will bring those thoughts back home with her.
Or – at least – come back with a bag of chips.
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