Friday, 10 September 2010

Winding Wit like a Watch . . .

Hello dear people and welcome once more to this wee bit of the ether which has been decked out, not with boughs of holly just yet,  but with a virtual and very extensive library and before it, a scroll of tales such that, as Miranda said, would cure deafness !

Writing this blog (such an ugly word; is it an abbreviated biographical log maybe? I really should ask Mr Google . . .)  is both a joy and, yet at the same time, a task akin to that of poor old Sisyphus . . .  I love words and puzzles and when the two combine successfully the game is indeed worth the candle; alas the said flambeau is not only currently burning at both ends but also in danger of spontaneously combusting and leaving your poor wordsmith amid a conflagration that would roast a pig, oink and all!

Yet I shall, for your sake of course, put my shoulder to the boulder and boldly continue up this particular hillside whilst I yet have breath . . .Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain . . .

It is fast approaching the witching hour and once again time is against me - even though I spend my days advising people to "Live in the Now" I still, somewhat hypocritically, have  a huge list of things to accomplish - the dreaded deadlines . . . I suppose that is the nature of the beast and, since I am worshipping at the feet of this particular golden bovine, I can do little but obey . . . anyhow, the work waits, the clients don't, and life tumbles on gathering not moss but squishing me en route!

But enough! Let us not end this night with such a plaintive horn (good advice for us all there!) Let us rejoice and say like Clayton Claw Cleaver Clementine  "I know that my redeemer liveth" from the verdant pastures of St Stephen's Green, out a way to Dalkey and the archives hidden there . . . for there is a trinity that brings forth life and a pint of plain is your only man.

And I have missed the deadline and today is already tomorrow . . . never mind, I'm sure most of you will only read this later on when your circadian rhythms dictate and what will you think? Ah me! What will you think?

The curator and custodian of this worm-holed fabrication has been kind to me -  knowing I loved my books he furnished me from mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom . . . and so here we sit with words tumbling around our ears, whispered by many mouths now silent and to their chorus I add my own poor reed, discordant and inadequate as it is, to blot this page and say

'til next time

Be Seeing You !




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