There is something poignant and memorial-like like about
sitting in a quiet pub on a Monday afternoon, watching the barmaid rush about
trying to get ready for the evening trade, in a small rural place, where there
is only one other table occupied, and the Dark Star wisdom is going down well,
while on the muted soundtrack there is a whisper of some female singer caressing
Elton John’s Your Song (the best song he ever wrote, apart from Saturday
Night’s Alright for Fighting of course) and making you feel as if all life is
concentrated into this moment, and the dog is sitting quiet beneath the table
and the words have tumbled onto the page. Death is always around the corner but
for some reason death has been held at bay with this poignant and memorial like
moment. And if by some strange sense of synchronicity the beer that I drink is
called Revelation.
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