Friday, 22 February 2008

Gothic

The weather, that is. It's grey and dark and dull and the wind howls around the building like a lovelorn wherewoolf. It's enough to make you want to call Sting, for crying out loud. My heart longs for sunshine and clear blue skies. Not yet, not yet. I'll withdraw for now to the tropical beach resort in my mind. Come in, the water's lovely!



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