Some mornings you wake up and decide to write a quick 400-word thing about something and about 150 words in you realise it’s a much bigger and potentially more interesting thing that will take longer than you have that day so you end up shelving it for another day and writing what amounts to a half-arsed apology/placeholder-type thing that consists of no more than a lengthy sentence that runs away from itself like a loo roll skeetering away from you across a parquet floor or possibly a little bit like the occasional phrases a robin sings, the ones that start quite sweet and controlled and then go tsibbywibbytsweeooleeoobeeduuiii and never come back, and that’s ok because the robin’s song is in fact part of what you were going to write about so you lodge that information for when you have time to make it a proper post that people might conceivably want to read rather than a loose jumble of semi-coherent burblings.
Today was one of those days.
Meanwhile, here’s a disturbing story about an…
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