Dear Diary,
Wagwan? A blitzed haze, shot-away with booze and such; yet, still lingering on the fringes of Archæological endeavour. Anthropology. Art History. Aye. Mine own chosen passionate discipline - but also so very dispassionate, objective.
I managed to apply for a job today, with the O.U. in the hope that I'd have something on my resumé that proved provenance. That I might hath shown worthiness, in thought, and deed. Across the mystical communication lines (a call centre)
So anyway, it's fish and chips with the Mrs. Toasted. Wasted. Gone. In love. Aye.
Lots of confusion, clearing to clear skies, bordered with pinkish hues, then frontiered with grey clouds: cumulonimbus. In the aftermath of gathering clouds, the once bright now diminishing stratosphere closes about with a blanket of grey, stark, rolling cloud-cover.
A storm is brewing...
Maximus.
