As Eamon de Valera said in reponse to Winston Churchill’s 1945 speech about the possibility of having had to come to close quarters with Mr de Valera or perish forever from the earth:
I know the kind of answer that I am expected to make… I know the kind of answer I would have made a quarter of a century ago.
Something along the lines of the triple breasted whore of Eroticon Six, a slab of red Leb and nutty chocolate brownies doused in Baileys. Or at least a few pints of Guinness anyway.
But as the Long Fella said, that was all a long time ago. These days it’s harder to answer. But the chorus of this song is as near as I can get to summing it up.
The real ingredients of my wildest fantasy are annoyingly all striveable for in the real world – happy children, making a positive difference, getting the book published, getting the next books published, getting some sleep.
They’re not necessarily within my control, but at a minimum – as the chorus of the song by Chumbawamba says – If it is to be, it is up to me…
How tiresome. How tiring. Not a single mention of whipped cream.
I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours. Other members of the Loose Bloggers Consortium have done so already. Links to their blogs are listed on the right hand side of the screen if you scroll down.