I have just arrived back. The drizzle is exploding into steam on the bonnet of my car and under the hood the engine is creaking and slowly cooling after powering itself and I the two hundred miles from the airport. Things have changed since I left several months ago. I just need a minute to grasp this. Bear with me for I shall return shortly.
The passage of each day is bringing me closer to forming a terrorist group of my own.
When I was but a wee young stripling of a lad I remember continually arguing with my parents after one occasion when I made the fatal mistake of being honest with them. I had just smoked my first few spliffs down the bottom of the garden and foolishly, and perhaps because I was freshly stoned, I presumed that Mum and Dad would understand my curiosity and would leave me to it. I mean, the authors I was so enamoured with at that time were all prescribing healthy doses of all sorts of pharmaceuticals; Huxley liked his mescaline, Kesey his LSD-25 and Burroughs his smack, to name but a few; and I thought that the rents would take my mild investigations into these matters with a nurturing pat on the back. This was not the case.
Hence followed two years of them shouting at me that I needed counselling and me replying in shrieks that it was them who needed help to deal with the reality that,"everyb...
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