There Are Things You Don't

Laughter Went On And On, Like Sunlight And Stone, Even If The Human Beings Who Laughed Did Not.

But It Was Equally Clear To Her That This Was Her Fate, That She Had Called Its Name And It Had Come To Her, And She Could Do Nothing Now But Own It.

When They Finished Laughing They Were On Their Way To Being Not Just Friends, But The Dearest Of Friends, The Sort Of Friends Whose Lives Are Shaped By The Friendship.

My Books Happen. They Tend To Blast In From Nowhere, Seize Me By The Throat, And Howl 'write Me! Write Me Now!' But They Rarely Stand Still Long Enough For Me To See What And Who They Are, Before They Hurtle Away Again. And So I Spend A Lot Of Time Running After Them, Like A Thrown Rider After An Escaped Horse, Saying 'wait For Me! Wait For Me!' And Waving My Notebook In The Air.

The Bus Timetable Sites Are All Run By An Inbred Cabal Of Malicious Gnomes. Who Don’t Speak English. And Who Don’t Count Very Well Either. Or Tell Time. And They Certainly Can’t Read Maps.