Do you ever find yourself in that situation. You let loose a word innocently out into the smoggy, smoggy world and the uber-conversationalist opposite immediately, through some associative process or malfunction of the social gene, hooks it up in their me-me-me claw and tells your their life story. This kind of practised lexical-drone can gun down every word you say and in return bless you with an infinite number of life stories. So you sit, pushing back the cuticles, developing embarrassing itches, tugging at your cheek which has suddenly mutated into some kind of rubber mask, so that you can yank that skin out about three feet. You develop x-ray vision, you hear voices in your head as well surround sound, and your fingernails have never been so clean.
That's what's happening to me today - which is why I can't think of anything to write about. Sorry.
On the other hand, I've eventually sold my flat (USA = apartment) in Bath. Didn't rake in a security van full of oncers (USA = greenbacks); mainly, because it was quite elegantly small. You know... not big... like a shoebox with a door and a toilet. Nonetheless, out tonight to get bubbled up.
HUD YE ON MA CUDDY!
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