Well, it’s been a while since I’ve spoken with you, dearest of all diaries intimate. Aye. Much has happened. I am writing this in amidst the mightiest most tempestuous storm the Isle of the Mighty has seen since the nineties. Almighty Jove is particularly angry this evening. ’Neath the waxing moon, in a microclimate, here on the coast, much like living on a boat at the mouth of the Cleddau river in Cymru, ere three days have passed, the weather changes. From stormy seas, to more becalmed waters be, tranquil, peaceful, serene. Hang on to your hats.
I jacked my job in. As I spoke to Mr. X about it today, his response to my analysis of the situation was, “They’re taking the piss.” Quite right too. A fiver. Never have I played for so measly a sum. I would rather be lashed with rain, sick from exposure and malnutrition, busking on the street, than be exploited in such a blatant fashion.Naturally, I’ve taken steps to find work: I have an interview for a job at the Museum. I’ve arranged to give guitar lessons. The young man in question has the modicum of talent required, which needs but nurturing as does an olive-tree. He has the motivation to learn, precious little money to give, but enough (a fiver). Life is tough. Alas, such is the way of the world.
I possibly have a publishing opportunity with a very dear old school chum. I can say no more on this, except that in mind catharsis, I take the dregs of a bad situation, turn it on its head in the tertiary definition, of Antistrophe. Making something good from something evil, turning darkness into light, making the most of an otherwise dire situation.
Good night fair dairy. I shall see you in morning’s early light.Adieux.
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