All of my P.G. Wodehouse is in boxes. This interferes with my desire to write a poem. I settled for reading about the Chinese giant salamander instead, until I was distracted by cheetahs.
Unwisely, I followed a link from The Love Guru. I now desire to learn necromancy in order that Danny Kaye may follow Mike Myers around, day and night, his ceaseless recitations of "Anatole of Paris" and "Tchaikovsky and Other Russians" invisible and inaudible to all other mortals, until Myers' brain reduces to its chemical components.
Whoever said that Eliza Carthy's Dreams of Breathing Underwater (2008) sounded like Angela Carter is right. "Oranges and Seasalt" is crying out to be played over the end credits of Nights at the Circus.
I need to sleep.
Unwisely, I followed a link from The Love Guru. I now desire to learn necromancy in order that Danny Kaye may follow Mike Myers around, day and night, his ceaseless recitations of "Anatole of Paris" and "Tchaikovsky and Other Russians" invisible and inaudible to all other mortals, until Myers' brain reduces to its chemical components.
Whoever said that Eliza Carthy's Dreams of Breathing Underwater (2008) sounded like Angela Carter is right. "Oranges and Seasalt" is crying out to be played over the end credits of Nights at the Circus.
I need to sleep.
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