I grew up in a gnarled and violent town somewhere in the nether regions of Wales; surely, this dancing lark was the domain of leotard wearing dames or tutu wearing Lady-boys?
What matters to us left behind, to those of us who suffer from the same darkness, is how do we protect ourselves?
In the meantime, i endeavour to use that new fangled invention i've been hearing so much about, 'social media' to connect and share more, even though to me it is as comfortable as a porcupine rectal thermometer .
I felt sad to let go of being 42 as, at the very least, I felt important thanks to Douglas Adams and his meaning of life.
We, my family and I are standing on the threshold of something we can’t rightly fathom. It is bracing. There is colour in our cheeks. We are waiting to begin.
It is like being a parent to Wile E. Coyote. I don’t watch Looney Tunes cartoons anymore; I live them.
If what I attempted was not the highest of art, then folk would see through the cracks and realise what a complete piece of shit I was. That I was a faker. That I was actually hollow of purpose, worth and talent.
While writing is usually considered a wise and earthly pursuit, it actually revolves around sitting in your underpants while typing and spurning life completely.