We are in the process of trying to explore the possibility of – perhaps – attempting to persuade our local authority if they would like to, one day, conditions permitting, sell us a small plot of woodland.
Well that’s a stupid title. It’s basically gibberish in Latin. I recognise some of it, but it’s just a jumble of bits of stuff.
To the British mind Australia is the dictionary definition of paradise.
We live in a perpetual gloom, where the only true communal activity is moaning about how gloomy it is.
It has always been put down as “one of those things” that a lot of Weezer’s albums are called Weezer; it has always drawn me in that these albums exist.
It’s not a good thing when a gun-shot is the most predictable outcome of a meeting, but that’s the way it had always been with Bob and Larry; they just couldn’t express affection any other way.
Sometimes I develop a romantic notion in my head of a place – somewhere I have usually never even been to – which bears absolutely no relation to reality. Well, now it is the turn of Canada.
I am looking for the easy ability to strike up a conversation without ending up wittering something elaborately boring, or sensationalist, just because I have got carried away with the weirdness of being in a conversation.