Good evening, readership. Well what a weekend it's been.Varied, many
splendoured, schizophrenic. My lexicographic accuracy may well have been
diminished by ingestion of alcohol, by way of red wine - so apologies for
non sensical syntax and wayward spelling. Actually, spelling is something
that is occupying my thoughts at the moment. Yesterday, I visited my friend,
Gavin P-P, the visual, aesthetic, god of Idling, now rather busy becoming a
success of Cloud literature and televisual broadcasting. I have persuaded
Gav to lay out my record sleeve, add the text, fonts, finishing touches
which turn an amateurish collection of images and ideas, into a cohesive
professional and visually appealing package. Gav, a friend of many years,
has always been slightly busier that the rest of us, but recently, all his
ships seem to have come in at once... the lad is poised for great success.
All the harder to pin him down to help me out. Still, in some quarters,
loyalty, guilt, decency and emotional blackmail still hold sway. I persuaded
him that it would be a simple laying out job, with no come backs. We spent
many hours yesterday, putting the finishing touches to the sleeve of my
wretched album. I'd checked the copy many times, showed it to people who
claimed some degree of education, and satisfied myself that there were no
errors. Amazing, how it's only when the whole thing has been done, that
spelling errors, punctuation errors, and general slackness come to light. So
like a recalcitrant ousted lover, I've begged him to take me back. Quark me
baby, Quark me baby, only you can do it right. I'm heavily into correction.
Spent a lovely day with Thomas the tank Engine and friends. Met Father
Christmas. Must retire now.