Monday thoughts.

On a dark night, possibly during the low of winter, I walked to or from Andrew Broughton's house, with the deep foreboding that something bad would come as a result of the stupid things which sprang from my mouth in regards Dan Wynne and my first visit to a Police Station to be formally interviewed at their convenience.

Then it struck me that I had been born alone, and lonely, and was 19 and still alone and bereft of companionship to a deeper level.

Things in Wetherby High School would never be the same. The high of lower 6th with 3 A grades became the absolute possiblity of Unclassified on all fronts in the Mocks of 1992...

1990/91 was a really great year at Wetherby High School however 1991/92 was it's polar twin.

The prophecy that I'd spend my entire life alone, but desperate (too frantic) to connect with another soul on a different level than purely platonic, seems to be something between 1991 and 2021 I have fulfilled.

Thirty barren years. Apart from the Love I've felt for the planet, during pilgrimage, and for either Snoops or Lola, since Emma brought mister merry legs home in 2004, it's just been me really?

Isn't it up to me to challenge this deeply planted, rooty and branchy, clinging vine? Surely it is? Definitely no one else can snap the trunk and dig up the leeching creeper.