Oranges and seasalt, they don't go together
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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Re: P.G. Wodehouse
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A worthy goal. Though the looks of it suggests that Myers' brain has already been put into some weird quantum state where only penis jokes escape.
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You're too late. Michael Myers never had anything but chemical components...
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The thought of a Myers-written remake of Walter Mitty is indeed terrifying. I never actually knew there was a film--I suppose I'll have to check it out sometime. Thurber's works were a central part of my childhood.
Sorry to hear about the interference from the boxed-state of your P.G. Wodehouse collection.
I need to sleep.
I hope you have slept, and slept well.
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