Feeling the cold!
Consonant Reader,
Well, I got over my deadly flu. It turns out it wasn't that deadly at all, hence me writing this blog now. But I was in agony for a couple of days, and don't wish it on anyone.
Finished school on Friday, so have been taking it nice and steady so far. Been to see a few friends and family at the weekend, only to come back to Gloucester to find our boiler has packed up. The pipes have began leaking and the boiler just isn't working, so its freezing everywhere. Last night I slept with two socks on and three layers on top, my girlfriend slept with a beanie on to keep her head warm. Brr.
Anyway, christmas is coming if you hadn't noticed, so you're all going to get a little treat. I e-mailed Pencil (RIP) last year with this poem which he published on his now defunct blog. This year I'll just publish it on this here blog. Not original at all, but I love the poem, and if you havn't read it before, enjoy.
Its called 'Nicholas Was' by Neil Gaiman and I hope I've got permission to show this (Probably not but the respect is there!).
Keep warm, eat, drink and be Mary.
Nicholas Was…
Older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Artic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once a year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen in time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.
B x.
Well, I got over my deadly flu. It turns out it wasn't that deadly at all, hence me writing this blog now. But I was in agony for a couple of days, and don't wish it on anyone.
Finished school on Friday, so have been taking it nice and steady so far. Been to see a few friends and family at the weekend, only to come back to Gloucester to find our boiler has packed up. The pipes have began leaking and the boiler just isn't working, so its freezing everywhere. Last night I slept with two socks on and three layers on top, my girlfriend slept with a beanie on to keep her head warm. Brr.
Anyway, christmas is coming if you hadn't noticed, so you're all going to get a little treat. I e-mailed Pencil (RIP) last year with this poem which he published on his now defunct blog. This year I'll just publish it on this here blog. Not original at all, but I love the poem, and if you havn't read it before, enjoy.
Its called 'Nicholas Was' by Neil Gaiman and I hope I've got permission to show this (Probably not but the respect is there!).
Keep warm, eat, drink and be Mary.
Nicholas Was…
Older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Artic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once a year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen in time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.
B x.