short stories, comment, articles, humour and photography
In a moment of wild, youthful dementia, I once dropped acid with a Womble. There, I’ve got it off my chest. It’s so long ago it can’t hurt anyone now.
He didn’t set out to be a Womble, just got lucky. When I first met him he dreamed of becoming a rock star. Didn’t everybody? Oh, it was just me then. And him.
Some years afterwards we literally bumped into each other as he wombled out of a door onto Notting Hill’s Westbourne Park Road straight into my path. Like a tatty, old winter coat emerging from hibernation, he looked a right two and eight, to employ the vernacular of the time. Desperately in need of a fix, he was dirty, dishevelled, and more than pleased to see me again, even though he couldn’t remember who I was. There are episodes of my life I would rather forget. This isn’t one of them. I dropped Acid with a Womble. I think it might be the start of a series.
Singer | Performance Poet | Songwriter | Writer | Vocal Animateur|Gardener| Mother| lover of Nature
Une fois. Encore.
Public interest issues, policy, equality, human rights, social science and analysis
Hold your verve
More Coyotes than Wolves
My journey into sketching and drawing in and around Jimena de la Frontera, Andalucia
Gene Logsdon Memorial Blogsite
Art, music, books, history & current events