Insecurity and insincerity stand side by side at the gatepost. The CD player's drawer will not open.
Another nail, in the mid life, late life, risible crisis coffin. It doesn't amount to much does it; the result of a technical fault combined with low blood sugar levels.
Does anyone really believe, or are these just words. Just how long should the endurance be measured to satisfy the title of believer, and thus to be endowed with the moniker of an altogether satisfactory chap.
Not at all to my satisfaction, no news yet from the car insurance, a dull wet mist to look out on.
The beat from Jim Moray might beat me back to life, as equally well might reading Romantic Moderns.
