an interlude: fairport convention
I shouldered my way through the swinging fire door which separates our living room from the hall and slammed my ass into the rotating chair in front of my PC. My face was flushed and beaded with perspiration.
\”What\’s wrong ? \” Rosa enquired. She was reclining on the sagging settee in front of where the television used to be before it caught fire and burned itself out. The radio was not quite tuned to a talk show station. \”Are you alright ?\”
\”It\’s nothing,\” I said. Lying as usual. \”I can feel a post coming on…\”
\”God damn you !\” she yelled. \”You\’re always on that fucking computer ! You might as well wire yourself into it permenantly and be done with it.\”
She hurled her shoe across the empty space between us.
\”But I could be dead tomorrow, \” I whined. \”I\’ve got to get it all out before it\’s too late !\”
Once, a long time ago, I was arguing with a work colleague regarding the merits or not of Gilbert O\’Sullivan when he turned to me in disgust. Gilbert was a highly prolific singer & songwriter, he informed me. Just look at the number of hits he achieved. You can\’t argue with that. I turned to him and smiled evilly.
That\’s right, I said. Sometimes I go for a shit three times a day.
Look at me now.
▼ FAIRPORT CONVENTION: WHO KNOWS WHERE THE TIME GOES ? from \”Unhalfbricking\” LP (Island) 1969 (UK)