My Mother was a woman of various failings, not least her short attention span and questionable hand-eye coordination. As a small child, back when small children could be subjected to strange occurrences without the intervention of do-gooders, she dropped me on my head. Did it affect me? I thought not and life's evidence seemed to indicate that all was well. Having worked in journalism and publishing for nearly 40 years, I occasionally knitted together words to form lumps of prose and poetry. These inanities were generally created in airports, bars, hotel rooms or during work meetings. I did nothing with them; my emphasis was always on my work. A recent relocation from a vibrant and exciting city to a dull farmyard nothing-but-fields place led to me revisiting these scribblings and I was surprised to find that they verged on the absurd. What had my mind been doing while I was drinking beer and taunting pigeons? I now find that the head-drop incident may well have dislodged something and my nonsensical verbiage only resonates with others who have experienced the ground-cranium interface. Still, there's a lot of us around so I've decided to work on some of these ideas and see how the world like it when I leave a little bit of nonsense in their private places. I arrived here because it's predominantly blue and that's okay with me. So, hello.
