If The Seventies Were Bulbous, And The

I Enjoy Doing Very High Mileages, Partly Out Of Masochism And Also Because I Like To Feel The Shape Of The Landscape.

You Don't Need To Know This - But Here Goes: Due To Some Acquired Infantilism, I Feel Compelled To Fall Asleep Listening To The Radio. On A Good Night, I'll Push The Frail Barque Of My Psyche Off Into The Waters Of Lethe Accompanied By The Midnight Newsreader - On A Bad One, It's The Shipping Forecast.

Mother Sighed With Exasperation. "look, There Aren't Any "people In Charge Of Death". When You Die You Move To Another Part Of London, That's All There Is To It. Period.

I Like Texting As Much As The Next Kidult - And Embrace It As Yet More Evidence, Along With Email, That We Live Now In The Post-aural Age, When An Unsolicited Phone Call Is, Thankfully, Becoming More And More Understood To Be An Unspeakable Social Solecism, Tantamount To An Impertinent Invasion Of Privacy.

Is There Anything More Useless Than A Crouton? I Sometimes Wake Up In The Small Hours With A Start And Realise That What's Roused Me Is An Overpowering Urge To Visit Violence On Its Originator.