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Sometimes you meet the strangest people. And they’re all from Swindon.
Strange but interesting, people.
Ruth is stranger than Richard. And a very great deal taller. Not that these people exist necessarily. I couldn’t possibly say one way or the other without revealing too much.
Ruth, apparently, is very civilised, owing to her great height.
I imagine her having her own little room which must surely be either severe, full of triangles neatly stacked on white shelves unseen inside mirrored wardrobes.
Or, more encouragingly, she drapes herself, langorously camouflaged against the dark fabrics so that if you were to rush into the room, perhaps to escape her pet black panther, you would be likely to step on a pointed shoe and something would give a start several layers down.
For her it is always afternoon, about 3 o’clock, irrespective of season, midges or nightfall.
So what is it like, anyway, wanting to exist?
Is it like treacle? Is it like ants? Is it like the Borg? Or is it nothing? Or is it like this?
Currently listening
http://www.last.fm/music/Acid%2BMothers%2BTemple%2B%2526%2BThe%2BCosmic%2BInferno/_/starless+and+bible+black+sabbath
