A bit of a jolly day yesterday. A toffee popcorn kind of day; a day when you get all of the stratacelli in your mouth before it melts on to your sneakers; a day when some of the fragmented pieces fall into the right jigsaw spaces. This is not about the lyrics contracts - all that: in accordance with instructions, your reference dated as per section 5, and reasonable care not to make a misrepresentation, blah, blah, blah. No. All of that is still an Eton Mess floating with a bird's eye view of my head, like some culinary drone yet to be invented. (Have you noticed the blueberries in the muffins watching you as you walk around the deli?)
No, this is another worthy project stuffed deep inside the back pocket. It suddenly appeared like a magician's rabbit, wide eyes popping because straitlaced backer numero uno suddenly pulled out of concordat because of a financial injury - asked for a bank loan and the manager socked him on the nose. Now lovely, handsome but serious with intentions to match and with a fine sturdy leg, backer numero deux has stepped in jauntily with a shiny offer of a deluxe publication and sufficient moolah to market the thing. Yippees all round, I say! It's what's known as a silver lining.
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