Brain, brain go away. Oh, is it rain? I’ve been harder of hearing all my life than I’ve realised. Plus I now have no excuse whatsoever for all those mind-killing drugs I took in my youth. And after my youth. And after that.
Little sleep plus early hospital appointment plus bye bye sunshine hello meh drizzly wanko weather equals a Harris who is in a subdued mood. Add in the fact that my old friend Pete, who died on January 1st this year, would have been fifty today and it’s fair to say I’m not Wednesday’s greatest fan, nor am I likely to shift this melancholy for a while.
So I’ve returned to my bed to recall learning and laughter and mind-killing drugs and over three decades of knowing Pete. There are worse ways to commemorate such events and I have far worse memories to plunder. Most of these ones are hilarious. Even the bits when Satan was talking to me through a rusty tap because I’d bought all of the acid in the world. From Pete.