Chaz is born free, and is everywhere in chains.
At least, right here and right now, he is. Frustratedly.
I was all ready to go out: boots on, thermos filled. Laptop, biscuit. Bag packed and slung. Hand almost on the door, when I remembered I had to stay in for a delivery.
Big sigh, retreat, retrenchment. Everything unshipped, unpacked. Laptop plugged in again, fired up again; Chaz soothed - inadequately - by self, "Never mind: we have capon, soup, bread. Work to do. We're fine..."
But we are not fine, and--
Hold hard. Hark!
*departs*
*returns*
Oh blessed be DHL, who come when they say they will! Delivery has been delivered (we haz cheezes, Cornish cheezes...), and I am free again, tra-la.
Alas, I have drunk the contents of my thermos. Still'n'all, there is always more coffee. That's a law. Something akin to the conservation of energy, only more important. (Now I want to write a story called The Conversation of Energy, on account of my mistyping.)
(I should perhaps not tell you this, but the story I am now working on? Is called "'Tis Pity He's Ashore". Which is a title I have treasured for something more than thirty years, only waiting for the story to attach itself thereto. Which it now has, hurrah.)
At least, right here and right now, he is. Frustratedly.
I was all ready to go out: boots on, thermos filled. Laptop, biscuit. Bag packed and slung. Hand almost on the door, when I remembered I had to stay in for a delivery.
Big sigh, retreat, retrenchment. Everything unshipped, unpacked. Laptop plugged in again, fired up again; Chaz soothed - inadequately - by self, "Never mind: we have capon, soup, bread. Work to do. We're fine..."
But we are not fine, and--
Hold hard. Hark!
*departs*
*returns*
Oh blessed be DHL, who come when they say they will! Delivery has been delivered (we haz cheezes, Cornish cheezes...), and I am free again, tra-la.
Alas, I have drunk the contents of my thermos. Still'n'all, there is always more coffee. That's a law. Something akin to the conservation of energy, only more important. (Now I want to write a story called The Conversation of Energy, on account of my mistyping.)
(I should perhaps not tell you this, but the story I am now working on? Is called "'Tis Pity He's Ashore". Which is a title I have treasured for something more than thirty years, only waiting for the story to attach itself thereto. Which it now has, hurrah.)