"Are you blind when you're born? Can you see in the dark?...
Can you look at a king? Would you sit on his throne?
Can you say of your bite that it's worse than your bark?
Are you cock of the walk when you're walking alone?"
Watching Panorama last night (or rather, listening to it as I scribbled things) got me hooked on a piece of music right at the end that I was sure I knew. I have tracked it down - just as well, it was driving me bloody glockey - it's the last minute of Pink Floyd's 'Is there anybody out there?' from The Wall. Which explains why my neurons knew it, since I listened to that album on a loop for about three years straight around A-Level time. Annnnd now I'm gonna have to stop listening to it before I get infected with the endless remembered-stabbity-sadly that went with it.
*mentally shakes self* Right. What was I saying? Yeah. Still scribbling things in the evenings to no specific purpose - added to the angsty picture of Jack and tried to draw Etcetera but lost interest at some point.
Writing is happening too, but apparently only after midnight when sitting in the hearth with a glass of wine and an unlit pipe by the embers of the fire. Yes, I do wonder about my neurons too, mad little buggers.
Also have been listening to the original recording of Cats which was a thing I listened to constantly for four or five years straight when I was little. This has reminded me of something which I'd forgotten. Most little girls want to be faeries and princesses and the like. Some more originally-minded little girls want to be highwaymen or Sherlock Holmes. I wanted to be a Jellicle Cat.
Okay, I have accounts and kitchen wenching I ought to be doing instead of typing wibble in here. Lalala.
Can you ride on a broomstick to places far distant?
Familiar with candle, with book and with bell?
Were you Whittington's friend? The Pied Piper's assistant?
Have you been an alumnus of heaven or hell?
Can you say of your bite that it's worse than your bark?
Are you cock of the walk when you're walking alone?"
Watching Panorama last night (or rather, listening to it as I scribbled things) got me hooked on a piece of music right at the end that I was sure I knew. I have tracked it down - just as well, it was driving me bloody glockey - it's the last minute of Pink Floyd's 'Is there anybody out there?' from The Wall. Which explains why my neurons knew it, since I listened to that album on a loop for about three years straight around A-Level time. Annnnd now I'm gonna have to stop listening to it before I get infected with the endless remembered-stabbity-sadly that went with it.
*mentally shakes self* Right. What was I saying? Yeah. Still scribbling things in the evenings to no specific purpose - added to the angsty picture of Jack and tried to draw Etcetera but lost interest at some point.
Writing is happening too, but apparently only after midnight when sitting in the hearth with a glass of wine and an unlit pipe by the embers of the fire. Yes, I do wonder about my neurons too, mad little buggers.
Also have been listening to the original recording of Cats which was a thing I listened to constantly for four or five years straight when I was little. This has reminded me of something which I'd forgotten. Most little girls want to be faeries and princesses and the like. Some more originally-minded little girls want to be highwaymen or Sherlock Holmes. I wanted to be a Jellicle Cat.
Okay, I have accounts and kitchen wenching I ought to be doing instead of typing wibble in here. Lalala.
Can you ride on a broomstick to places far distant?
Familiar with candle, with book and with bell?
Were you Whittington's friend? The Pied Piper's assistant?
Have you been an alumnus of heaven or hell?