I've just survived a fortnight of Fifty Shades of Grey. It involved a lot of lying in bed and horizontal passivity though not (what a life-saver !) velvet hand-cuffs or spanking.
I've just survived a fortnight of Fifty Shades of Grey. It involved a lot of lying in bed and horizontal passivity though not (what a life-saver !) velvet hand-cuffs or spanking.
Shades of Grey is what happens to your life when you find yourself in the clutches of flu-with-cough virus. So much energy is taken up with coughing that almost immediately your get-up-and-go gets up and abandons you completely.
This enfeeblement soon makes even the short, but essential trek from bed to bathroom like climbing Everest - without oxygen tanks or obliging Sherpas.
Very soon after that your brain goes into recess and a grey fog descends. If you are lucky, in the midst of this mental pea-souper, a synapse will send out the occasional hopeful pulse - rather like a rescue flare sent up from a ship foundering at sea.
While the dim interior of your skull is thus illuminated a few thoughts occur to you. Where is the? Why is the? I wonder if? How come? In the foolishly optimistic moment before the flare dies out and all coherent brain-activity ceases, you really believe that you might be able to relieve the fog-bound boredom with a little light reading. Then you realise that no reading it quite light enough.
Shades of Grey is what happens to your life when you find yourself in the clutches of flu-with-cough virus. So much energy is taken up with coughing that almost immediately your get-up-and-go gets up and abandons you completely.
This enfeeblement soon makes even the short, but essential trek from bed to bathroom like climbing Everest - without oxygen tanks or obliging Sherpas.
Very soon after that your brain goes into recess and a grey fog descends. If you are lucky, in the midst of this mental pea-souper, a synapse will send out the occasional hopeful pulse - rather like a rescue flare sent up from a ship foundering at sea.
While the dim interior of your skull is thus illuminated a few thoughts occur to you. Where is the? Why is the? I wonder if? How come? In the foolishly optimistic moment before the flare dies out and all coherent brain-activity ceases, you really believe that you might be able to relieve the fog-bound boredom with a little light reading. Then you realise that no reading it quite light enough.
RSS Feed
