As is too often my way, I start with a vast oomph of energy then, the initial thrill having evaporated, slow down and even grind to a halt. Not so with my ever-loved slang, with whom I have been in the most intimate of relations for over forty years, but it may seem that this substack has been similarly afflicted. Well. Up to a point, Lord Copper. The reality is that I have vanished beneath that tsunami of terror, panic attacks, blubberation, bureacracy and anticipatory excitement that is otherwise described as a challenge second only to bereavement: moving home. I keep researching
Betwixt and between. And measured out in cardboard boxes.
Where is home? I'm new.
Keep the faith