Prose, prose, prose, I must write something, the blog can’t exist without me. It does make me feel somewhat responsible to this little diary accumulating of the year(s) with this and that and whatnot.
The music I’m listening to is Chopin, loud moody, gloomy, and exciting. A bit like me at times, or you, for we all go mad at times don’t we? Or do we? Or is it just me…..perhaps… and those in mental hospitals.
Get on with it….
I’ve neglected to scribble and eventually type for this, due to a desire to move abode. I need a flat and I know exactly where it must be (sefton park, Liverpool) and how it must be decorated and so, I’ve decided to move regardless of a need to eat.
I also realised the other day drinking tea in the garden under a blazing sun that I need a degree to exist above the breadline in the fast approaching future. So I’m going to do an art history degree. It was a toss up between that and an astro physics degree… and the former won. I was also contemplating studying literature or language but I considered thus; if I study writing, what am I going to write about. The idea of hopping to and from brilliant pieces of art across Europe won…naturally.
Now I’m going to plod off, I’m trying to convince my friend to give me a lift to the pub but I bet I’ll have to walk all 2 miles. It’s surely good for my system…the pint of beer also; I’m sure