Hard Times

Dear Diary,

Life ... is incredibly tough. Though having spent years living outside in a tent, I can safely say that I am poorer now than I have been at any time in my life. It is hard times at the moment.

“Well, there our pleasures ended,
and our troubles all began,
The hardships of those summer months,
would break the strongest man.”

(From John Renbourn’s The Buffalo Skinners).

I must find a new kind of employment, perhaps sell off the færie forest (painted miniatures) to fund keeping bank charges at bay and staving off hunger. Much of the time I feel like not eating, even though I may have food. I realise I am depressed. The remedy for this does not come in the form of scrippy pills (prescriptions) nor wooing women with allure, nay, the solution is in working hard and reading history. I am utterly depressed and only myself may restore my spirit.

No-one even reads this, so it seems as pointless as ever, blogging.

Farina is in Edinburgh, putting on her show. I am stuck down south, listening to winds that blow; The soft shadow-like spectre of mourning hangs over me like the sword of Damocles, threatening to engulf me.

Max.