Fate beckons like a scrubbed toddler - exhilarated little face, chubby
little arms reaching out to you with hope and optimism. Meanwhile the past
clutches at your face with rasping, bony fingers - a wailing, elderly, incontinent relative having a panic attack, knowing she's about to die. Try to put both images out of your head. Somewhere in the middle of the
next Lunar Cycle, ITV4 may lose its appeal. You've been avoiding jazz for long enough:
it has searched the house and knows you are crouching in that cupboard,
holding your breath with your eyes squeezed shut. Feed your mind. Lag
your soul. The numbers 3, 11, 25, 26, 41 and 44 could be significant in
this sentence, but watch out for Lady Luck, who can occasionally be a right cunt. A good time to cut down on your
daytime drinking, unless you're 'just being sociable' or anything else
in quote marks.