Wednesday, 11 March 2009
The Place Where It All Falls Apart
I set out to tell a tale on this blog, and it keeps getting stuck, like an old record on a jukebox in a cafe that needs kicking (you see, I can't even order my subordinate clauses properly.) The needle gets caught in the groove.
(Younger readers, something similar does happen with CD's, but it doesn't sound anything like as funky. And we all bought our record collections again on CD because Tomorrow's World lied to us and said they were so robust you could fry eggs on them and they'd still work. )
I began with the tale of The House on Sandygate Lane, and that ground to a halt after two instalments. I started to map the Seven Ages of Gordie, and got as far as seven years old. I declared a Solstice of Sexuality, and still never got around to saying what that was all about. Then I started quoting chunks of Astral Weeks by Van Morrison. And I got stuck every time.
Confused? You will be... (once I get started)