I am told

I am told I am a nice guy? A romantic even? No idea. I have heard that nice guys finish last.

Just saying

When you get magazine renewals in the post and suddenly freeze totally, there are some underlying issues,nu?

because I do these things

I have been thinking..and thinking. And looked and examined promises that I have made lately, picking them up and turning them around like small pebbles and wondering if there is a chance that they may have come from pure phouka stubborness. Which given the one sided nature of things at the moment is a logical question.  And while I would love to say yes for my mental health, the truth is that no, stubborness had nothing to do with it.

For roughly

the last month or so, all my memories have been returning home, waiting arguably patiently in line to be reviewed. The good ones, the bad ones, the boring ones, the..yes there are some..down right silly ones. Some slide off into wherever memories go, some I have shared with she who is my best friend, some go into the writers pile and some leave me staring along in the dark and wondering why.  I do have to wonder, as mentioned in twitter..what happens when all the memories are rewound.

what the hay

memories sometimes are for sharing,eh?

memory..small farm near the lake, grass that to a 4 year old bardi had to be three miles high (thankfully it shrank before I had to cut it.) and finding, of all things, a sword. Ok...a plastic sword but that was a moot point at that age,nu?