02 February 2007

Please forgive me if I speak to you with my mouth full of raspberries and dirt on my knees. Over the next few weeks I plan on willing spring into my back pocket and planting gardens in glass jars.

I may have danced all the creativity out of me last night. I am full up with a whole-lot-of-nothing.

This weekend renders a lunch, some gazing, running and some fantastically tailored cocktails.

A lady, who always did what she wanted and not what she should said this very poignant thing:

"So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say. But to sacrifice a hair of the head of your vision, a shade of its colour, in deference to some Headmaster with a silver pot in his hand or to some professor with a measuring-rod up his sleeve, is the most abject treachery."


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