Radio Grit

Right now my head is a mash.

Listening to the voices in it is like listening to a clapped out FM radio. I'm trying to tune in but I only have a wonky knob.

You PRs working for various baby food mixes and back to school product assortments should strike me off your lists. You're wasting your time. I am hardly likely to volunteer myself to be manipulated by you, and neither do I construct my blog identity around your product promotion. Arse. Hark! There are moments of lucidity! That makes the effort worthwhile. Sometimes I can hear a direct channel of uncluttered thought shine out. Unfortunately it is strangled by whistling garbage. I mustn't forget to ring up about the hedge.

Because that's typical. I say one thing to myself and another idea which has no relevance takes over. Then the guitar starts playing and the orchestra comes in. I have Teach Yourself Italian on the ipod and I can't get it off. I wonder if the missing Michel Thomas French disc 2 is in the car.

Quite frankly, it's a mess inside this gonetothemashgrittyhead. But maybe I should just say Hi Rachel! I haven't forgotten and the post office is on my to do list. Which reminds me, I should take Paul's address. I feel guilty about the Christmas card. I wonder if the kids know about not putting knitting needles into their cabin luggage.

And I hope that security guard checks the black suitcase. I want to see his face when the leopard springs out.