If Jealousy Was The Vindaloo

No Amount Of Promises Can Guarantee Love

The Vocation Of Each Writer Is To Describe The World As He Or She Sees It; Anything More Than That Is Advertising.

For Mum, Life Was Fundamentally Hell. You Went Blind, You Got Raped, People Forgot Your Birthday, Nixon Got Elected, Your Husband Fled With A Blonde From Beckenham, And Then You Got Old, You Couldn't Walk And You Died.

Without Love, Most Of Life Remains Concealed. Nothing Is As Fascinating As Love, Unfortunately.

If Jealousy Was The Vindaloo Of Love, I'd Imagined Her Tongue Burning, And Such A Fire Forcing Her To Spill Her Truth.