I think I'm coming down with the dreaded Edinburgh Flu. Ever the contrarian, I've waited till I was back in London to catch it. If it's the Black Scottish Flu, I'm fucked.
Half sprawled on the couch, I'm patiently waiting for the sun to burn through the cloud cover so that I can have a semblance of a summer and maybe even recover. That's not going to happen is it? The sunshine I mean. In my weakened state no one dare tell me but I know, I know... Summer is well and truly over.
Still, I'm going to drag myself out later on, wearing my brand new mini purple tartan kilt and pink dance tights. And high heeled red patent leather shoes. Well, it would be nice to finally start earning a proper living this year! (The tarty toenails are still going strong.)
No need for the doctor, and hold off on the black rimmed cards and crowns of flowers. I'm not dead yet. Just middling. Idling. Limbo-ing.
When all I want to do is to keep going, like a rocket.
High high high into the sky.