I have an invasive thought relating to legacy. What are the long term effects of this life I’m living? What is my role? Bonding people. Bringing them together. Keeping them alive. Is that my legacy? My purpose? I feel like I’m afraid of divining my own path. Spending time alone and doing something worthwhile for myself. That takes time, and forethought.

How do you feel about contemporary indian tapas?

“Perfect! We’ll actually I don’t feel perfect about it. That’s ridiculous. I feel like I could eat it and it will be a new experience. Tapas is not traditionally Indian per se. So I feel confused and excited, and hopeful. Thanks for asking”.

It’s really good I promise but if you’d rather go more traditional there’s other good places… There’s one that does haggis pakora.

“Nonono, not at all, I really want to go. What gets me is when people ask ‘how do you I feel about […]’ I usually go blank. It’s like an immediate recoil for thoughtful/truthful answers because it’s an easy question to ask, and easy to answer quickly (in theory) but emotions, indeed ‘feelings’ are robust and deserve consideration – as with the initial step when formulating a question.”

Sitting on a train facing backwards. In strife with shooting pain down my right leg. ‘Muscular’ I hope, smiling to myself genuinely. Laughing at the pain, wondering about the reality of feelings un-expressed. Smiling upwards, displaying something unrelated to the felling I have, inside, locked away, personal. Silent.

THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN EDITED FOR REASONS BOTH POLITICAL AND LEGAL. THE AUTHOR HAS GIVEN OVER RIGHT TO THE GOVERNING BODY TO EDIT, CHANGE, AND/OR DELETE THE CONTENTS OF THIS MESSAGE WHERE DEEMED SUITABLE AND APPROPRIATE… with love, as always. XXX

Today I have a heavy heart, it’s my final week in Lille. On another path I start; onto another thrill. It’s not so easy to depart – these places warm and chill. I only saw a little part through windowpanes stuck still. Now, all aboard this horse and cart – wipe wetness from the sill.

I wrote a story on your back. Each night, of Bright. The neon blue sheep. He found a cape, and played in the field and helped me off to sleep.

Dear 1plus, today around 2.20pm you suffered an injury because of my inability to keep track of time. It was a series of unfortunate events which lead to your being bopped rather shockingly on one of your immaculate corners. I’ve always appreciated your fine lines and beautiful colouring. You have such a bright and cheerful face. The clarity you bring to our every day, and the way you assist in keeping track of time, writing notes and helping Lucy to keep in touch with her loved ones’ is admirable. So, it is with the utmost sincerity that I apologise for the role I played in your injury and near destruction. You are strong, and I know that you will bounce back from this – but I understand that you may well be smarting from this recent calamity. In case you didn’t know. You have been unique and special to Lucy from the first day of purchase. You do so much for her, helping to capture meaningful moments and share joy with the world. Wishing swift recovery❤️‍🩹

EATING RATING: 11/10 on the concentric brownie scale.

The prophecy was true!
And lo’ the time is right for a brown review.
A mouth melting moment, surely divined in Lille. Unlike any other chocolate, or happiness pill.

With all the bells-n’-whistles, and no expenses spared. The brownie was so-damn-good, one cannot be prepared. Presented in a napkin, a teeny-tiny sweet. Good tucker for the promenade, to help you keep your feet.

There was a person in the line, looking down and eating time. The woman who was just ahead, looked to the brochure that she claimed said: “the cat food’s cheap, check page two!” The server was cool like me and you. Said “yes, indeed, while that IS true – alas, this magazine’s from back in June”. The shopper wasn’t defeated, and yelled about being mistreated. And with my way STILL impeded, I witnessed as the cashier pleaded. From front to back she flicked, checking September’s issue quick. Suddenly a manager was called, and not so suddenly appeared. By which time, I was not to cheered. When the register next to me opened trade, a second mistake was made. I’d checked my phone, and in that time – I’d been pipped by everyone from the back of the line. With my chance, to advance lost, I begun to calculate the cost. This multi kilo cat food bag, and the warbling nonsense of the brochure hag. Not to mention the rudeness of those behind, and the cashier who didn’t seem to mind. Etiquette, was damned and in that moment I took things into my own hands. I stood up on the conveyor belt and thus was how my anger felt. Some abuse and anger was vented at the shop. Then I stomped the bag of cat food, which made a satisfying pop. I kicked a gallon of detergent on the floor, then ran like hell through automatic doors.

Free thought, training thumbs exercise brain muscle, organ, noodle, walnut whatever. Test it, press it: green. Red stop. Wine wine sine fine dining shingling mining rock hat bulldozer wattle, limp, eating faulty, dancing hating, talking, introducing, resting, resting, thunder clouds eat the hunger In me. Old lit up energy less a polarity of children, drool and hope and crawling, games and scones and cream and jam and prices that won’t stop wasting my friendships tasting like wine. Money wasting, my casing my choice, my friendship. Odd ball, lost it, costed it. I’m perfect, I’m fine, nothing hanging on my line. Extend a branch, put on some ranch, hope it’s fance’. Shirt and bills, unbutton clips, wattle, throttle, garbage dump, sickly pump, work and the noble effort of making the world a better place, industryindustry. How do you justify your existence when all you have is useless hopeful feckless reckless attrition narratives that waste and chill, waste and chill and drill at your heart. It’s a static start. Walmart, taking tarts and replacing them with your heart. Breath in, breath out – cardio. Cardigan, hard again, messages from you make me think back to when we were together. A complete, unreality of how I was. Brain changing dramatically from then to now. I’m looking back thinking “who was that” and we’re they happy? An I better now, or worse? I’m bias. Bi, hi, hi us. Higher than us right now, in the clouds of rust and red and poisoned lead in my bed. That’s what she said, hole in the head, take your meds, and you beads as you bled and you bleed, vains don’t bleed if nothing seeds, collect your bees and sail the seas and look back. Flying, dying Dutchman. Clutch man, ocean waves that gave naves faves when they brave the back side. Ocean wide, suicide, water slide, sick with pride, razors, hair tingle, intermingle, if your single pop pringles, drink a thimble of oregano. Ten time a day, don’t stray. Silly kid, intelligence remembrance, book take a look at a master’s idea of happenstance, existence your fitness, princess and princes bubble up, bite strike a light and turn it over, turn it on, long gone song of mountains wronged, hit a bong, country song, fight King Kong, sound the gong, eat like a Mong. Hungry hungry songs