Sunday, September 4, 2011

Eight miles outta Memphis and I got no spare

Sunday, September 4, 2011
An off-centre sofa, upsettingly mustard walls. Elder child magically rectangling right to my right, her casually crossed leg obscuring an obscure early Madonna 12" single. Fucking Coach Trip on the telly and another pair of voices drifting down from the bath.

It was a pretty special summer, involving a mountain stage of the Tour on a beautifully handmade but deeply unsuitable bike and then one of the happiest fortnights of my life. But now it's back to school and double-jobbing inspired almost solo parenting.

I've been listening to Nietzsche to get me through, accepting, embracing my Will to Nap.

Just thought I'd drop by...

2 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Conan Drumm said...

Great. Listen, when you were out in the wilds, residentially challenged and so forth, did you spy any sign of Sami?

Gimme said...

Are we talking about the PCB or the indigenous people of Sweden?

Either I'm afraid the answer is in the negatory.

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