Clinging onto vapours

While stuck at home laid low by my seemingly immovable lodger, that Bloody Mr Parkinson’s who just turned up one day in December 2016, I find confinement does offer some welcome time for reflection … up to a point.

The tricky common denominator in any attempt to smooth the waters for Muggins is not strictly related to (YO) PD pur sang. It’s as though the PD grabbed hold of something deep within that was – let’s say – less than placid and far from easily placated for starters.

And yet, rather a challenging life than a life no longer considered worth challenging. That’s a bold statement though and many times during a day this type of easy meme-worthy sloganeering is distasteful to me. Particularly, when the Churchillian Black Hounds of Despair drive up my Vulpine heart rate to near-unbearable levels of dreary anxiety.



And while the depression and anxiety are horrible companions to anyone’s life, no matter one’s own circumstances or social network, financial status and what-not, my own worry in regards to my inner balance hinges more on my infatuation with that mercurial yearning to reach for the stars and hang out on a waxing or waning Diana’s Hunting Moonbeam shooting the breeze, before just quickly dropping in on that remarkable little statue in Kensington Park, and finally perchance respectfully seeking a convo with some of the Thrones, Seraphim or Cherubim on duty if and when the mood takes me.

But let’s count our blessings rather than our losses or the things, friends, experiences, loves, kisses, near-loves, near-kisses, never-loves etc. and just try to find something left in the fragile vault worth cherishing, polishing up until such time, Deo Volente, that it may actually be of use to someone else out there in the Big Bad (wonderfully alluring) World ..

So much to worry about for my friends and loved-ones near and dear. Bad tidings from Alan Joyce HQ, a major worry for myself, and friends and family. And banding together somehow feels like it won’t be as seamlessly second-nature for my fellow Aussies during the next rollout of the CoRvid thing. I could be wrong there but I sense our crucial culture of mateship fraying a tad at the edges..

But let’s hope I am wrong.. it has been known to happen once every few centuries..

Dreading the empty nonsense soon to hit the airwaves with the elections in another country somewhere, but finding some solace in having had some exposure to the inner workings of news, journalism, comms, politics, PR.

Thank goodness for Armando Iannucci!

Splett central


Another hard day dominated by insecurity within and without.. at least I can think I can see our stunning azure Sydney skies returning.




Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: