I suppose it's not really a good thing to blog when you've had a drink, but I've actually only had a couple of glasses of white wine, (although there was the pint at the Crown and Sceptre earlier as I sat by the open log fire, pen in hand and wrote more of my latest short story ). Here I am in my study, glass of wine to hand and the film score to Titanic (woah!! credibility out the window there!) playing and a multitude of thoughts of what to write vying for supremecy. Paris? Rome? Red jumpers? Journeys for Jesus? Hemingway? There's a list as long as your arm of themes, subjects and titles, all waiting for the nod to leap onto the etherial page and become something more than they were and so much less than they truly are. Ha! Confucisous eat your heart out! So, maybe I'll just toy with the idea of writing anything of significance and simply leave it at the vague meaningless ramblings of a spur of the moment nine o'clock in the evening fancy. But you know, despite the sentimentality and schmultz, (is that how you spell it?) the whole Titanic thing is moving. Seeing the original footage of people waving goodbye, the ticker tape and hype, the hopes and expectations, class and position and the grand gesture and solid belief in the supremecy of technology and the 'modern age'; well, it makes you wonder. And as the middle east burns and the West waits, I wonder where the iceberg is? (Oh no; too serious?)
As the dulcet tones of Roy Ebden would utter at the end of his radio show: "If you have been, thanks for listeneing."
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