I have a confession to make. I live a double-life. I am a double agent, trading secrets between the worlds of poverty and riches.
My little dwarf
of a bed-mate and I (and, I know, certain other members of the band) have regular
dealings with her majesty’s Government concerning aspects of our personal welfare
and our potential success. This is to the norm, and the presence of such a
safety net and support network is not only welcomed and appreciated by us, but
should be by all, for its myriad of societal benefits and the sense of solidarity
for which it stands.
Despite the
undoubted best intentions (undoubted) of all
involved, however, sometimes these systems will have cream-buns stuck in
them somewhere – moistening the cogs and creaming up once creamless intricacies
of previously perfect governmental processes. This particular cream, then, has been the
subject of my morning so far, and has been for the memorable past. I am not,
however, the party that dropped the bun.
So, there is a
stress. A direct, unnecessary and unexplained stress upon my very status as ‘person
in a house’. Others have similar, politely unutterable problems.
And so I take a
step of desperation. A step that only the bravest yet most compromised agent
would take. I maintain the cognitive dissonance of an imagined Reverend Charles
Sheen, and draw from the completely imagined
twin conflicting bank accounts of Jeremy Hunt, simultaneously. I make turncoat,
if only in my head.
Today, then,
the other shoe in the bush on the other hand of Phoria is in central London,
where we know several meetings of great importance to our future will take
place. These are meetings that not only most bands, but most anyone-ers, would earnestly
desire to be a part of not so much for any positive outcomes, but only to hear a yes or a no. Just to take part,
as is the British way.
Today, I and
the rest of the band straddle both camps. Our bodies are weary, in all
accounts empty, but our minds are flush with new ideas and avenues – new inlets
of potential futures flowing all the time. Positive, moving forward – as much
as we can, for now. We occupy both the bottom and the top; a coarse and inappropriate
reflection of my favoured media.
New material
still coming. Promised soon.
Little
tastelessness.
Tim
P.S.: Our next show.
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