Anyone remember 1982? For several days now I’ve had Don Henley’s song ‘Dirty Laundry’ playing in my head. It’s probably a sign that I’m ready to spill my guts to you – and no, this is not going to be a blow-by-blow account of my attempt to commit Sepukku. And if it was – although I must stress that it isn’t – I hardly think I’d be in a fit state to type afterwards, do you? [discreetly wipes blood off the keyboard]
So, confession time. Where to start? Hmmm… “bless me blogosphere for I have withheld information”, possibly? Damn, this difficult. My wife and I are estranged. Descriptive word, that. It really cuts to the heart of the matter. Pun and ritual disembowelment tie-in very much intended. Ten – actually, it’s very nearly eleven – years quietly fermenting in the crapper ready for the big flush.
It’s a bit like being stalled on a rail crossing while the train bears down on you from a long way off. You desperately try to get the car started, but very soon, you start to feel the tracks vibrating and you begin to wonder if you wouldn’t be better off trying to jump clear before you get crushed. Yup, quite a dilemma and that stupid magic 8-ball is NO help whatsoever.