A Far Fetched Resolution

I’ll tell you what happens with impossible promises. You start with far-fetched resolutions. They are then pickled into a rigid dogma, a code, you go through the years sticking to that, out-dated, misplaced, irrelevant to the real needs, and you end up in the grotesque chaos of a Labour council, a Labour council hiring taxis to scuttle round the city handing out redundancy notices to its own workers. I’ll tell you.. You can’t play politics with people’s jobs and with people’s services.

Monday, October 23, 2006

The big chill

It has come to my attention that there is no cure for the common cold. This is unfortunate.

As is the fact that my physical self (nothing wrong with a bit of Cartesian dualism on a Monday morning) appears to have made the classic linguistic error of equating "common" in this context with "frequent". I am on my 4th cold this month.

The sooner I get my own warm, non-dusty, close to work and homely place to live the better. I believe the nomadic existence is better suited to the Negev desert than to Peckham in a wet October.

posted by Pickles @ 9:51 am  

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