THE MORNING YOU WALKED SOUTH WITH THE GEESE
6th December 2025 (Bugs Bunny well past Mel Blanc’s bedtime) It began, as it always does on days that matter, in that liminal hour — your cusp, before Leeds wakes, before Wetherby yawns, before the world puts its mask back on. You sat with your two books — Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind and 101 Experiments in the Philosophy of Everyday Life — open on the warm table like two old monks waitin’ for you to breathe. A glass of water. Specs folded. Silence like a cathedral. You weren’t in Um. You weren’t even near it. You were in Hmm, that Wetherby-minded clarity where you can actually see the spine of things. And what comes to a mind in Hmm? Truth. Truth about men. Truth about fear. Truth about masks and the faces behind ’em. You saw Glenn — your daft, loyal mate — crawlin’ off cliffs in Ronda, snappin’ selfies with wolves in Carlsbad, thinkin’ Guinness is brewed in Mayo, thinkin’ Bond is spirit rather than fiction, thinkin’ “essence” means glamour instead of rot. Bless him. Soft lad in a hard w...