This pops into my head every time:
‘One thing I could never stand was to see a filthy, dirty old drunkie, howling away at the filthy songs of his fathers and going blurp blurp in between as it might be a filthy old orchestra in his stinking, rotten guts. I could never stand to see anyone like that, whatever his age might be, but more especially when he was real old like this one was.’
It got all rather romantic for a moment. And then it didn’t
Bye for now.
Because I looked up and saw a bigger hill. But I couldn’t be bothered spending another two hours moving my legs. I got a semi-decent snap out of the endeavour, though. ‘Z for Zachariah’ came to mind, the only book from school I can ever remember that was about something. I don’t wish to read it again as it will probably turn out to be total shite, like much you revisit from yesteryear.
Just off Glimore Place, Edinburgh. I don’t know who it is and it is starting to vex me.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 