Look after yourself over the next 3 weeks of Xmas Grim.
In this post-covid quagmire of futureless hyperbole, ones inner void can be tested to the limit as the volume is set to 12, as we realise the smell of ammonia will never lead to its necessary post-mortem, but to the next zombie goosestep to the latest in-vogue bars.
The longing, that makes our cavernous interior feel endless, for the never realised promises of the self-denying metropolis we occupy, never ceases to question the surface of the world we must be within.
It’s been hard not to crave anything but quieteness since the pandemic threw us off the 200mph treadmill, only to expect us to get back on at 400mph.
For this reason, as we still stumble in the wake of the ruins of the 2010’s dreaming, I will try to be on the moors more than pubs.
John B Ledger 