They say that blood is thicker than water, but then again so is Scotch, and in my experience Scotch will quickly produce a more magnificent happiness and less enduring misery than any relation. Generally speaking, therefore, on any given day, except in an extreme situation, I would prefer an extra pint of Scotch in me than an extra pint of blood. But that is by the by.
Now if you have been paying close attention you would have noticed I have of late developed a mildly melodramatic and slightly gothic mindframe. This is partly the result of working in the old theatre, and hiding in the shadows (the velvet darkness), and constant exposure to the flickering silver light, and an ongoing conflict with a bottle of cheap Scotch, and Mother’s morbid influence, and lots of those sorts of things. My predominant influence however has been the Melbourne weather which flashes on and off, all throughout Spring, which I don’t mind, as it gives me a chance to wear Burberry trenches along St Kilda pier (it is like Brighton but with palm trees) til much later in the year than would otherwise be deemed socially acceptable.
Now I couldn’t help it (it was the weather & the Scotch & some picturesque influences) as I walked along the boardwalk developing that sort of “We Are The Mods We Are The Mods” rhythm you get when you wear high heeled boots, I felt very gloomy (it was the picturesque influences & the grey sea & the wind throwing water at me) and started thinking about certain things in a pensive manner, in particular all of the wasting, lactose-intolerant, skinny legged ugly-beautiful boys PROMISED TO ME by years and years of super-exposure to all of the Burberry ad Campaigns.