Friday, March 18, 2011

Flying Whirl Syndrome


You know when you’re momentarily airborne? For longer than you were expecting and much longer than is your custom? And you make it past the brief guffaw as your feet pedal at the air like 101 Hanna Barbera cartoon characters prior to some inevitable clifftop plummet? Only there is no plummet because you have to remain airborne somehow? And the whole Where The Hell Has Terra Firma Gone thing seems to go on for such a terribly long time you lose all sense of what ‘touching base’ may mean? But you know you have to try to touch base somehow for fear people might think you’re dead, or your blog will go mouldy (or worse) from neglect like a dead terrapin left out in the sun for a week?

That’s kind of where I’m at right at the moment — flying through the last few days of the 2010/11 cycle before the next onslaught of bold new hours equinoxes its load all over my sorry carcass.

My one consolation?

The Abysswinksback Three Year Bloggiversary flickers on the horizon with the bawdiness of a pirate ship fuelled by hi-grade rum and a single multiply buggered cockatiel.

So. ready yourselves — for there will be gravy.

6 comments:

fairyhedgehog said...

I'm waking an hour early with the light so changing the clocks will be a relief.

And I've got gravy to look forward to as well.

Sylvia said...

You've got my hopes up now. It better not be bisto.

Old Kitty said...

I've got my coke ready for my shot of rum, thank you.

Take care
x

Whirlochre said...

I can feel the anticipation rise like a colic child's hiccup...

Mother (Re)produces. said...

I'll bring the biscuits to put under the gravy. (Not cookies, REAL biscuits.)

Whirlochre said...

Oooh! A biscuit and gravy tower!