I feel more like that damned pig’s head by the minute.

There are seven flies alighting on and taking off from my exposed skin. Pretty soon I’ll light a citrus candle and it won’t make any difference at all. Swatting at the little beasts just makes me hot and more than bothered. Now and again I murder one of the little blighters and think I’ve just sentenced myself to another few turns on the wheel of life. If I get 7 at one blow, I’ll make like the Valiant Tailor. Splat. One more down. Hahah! Don’t Fear The Reaper is on the stereo. Those bloody flies better fear me. And another thing, why have they turned up today? It’s been 35®C all week and not a specimen of the order Diptera in sight.
However, thinking back to the weather forecast for the UK in flaming June I make a wry smile and think despite the flies, the ointment is very nice.
Sister Morphine from Sticky Fingers is on the hi-fi now: Ry Cooder is showing Keef how it’s really done and Jagger is doing one of his last great vocals. Man, what have I got to complain about, really? Yes, I could be writing something creative, doing some research, instead of writing this blog, but hey, even this is writing, isn’t it?
Anyhow, I’m feeling all Karmic at the moment, so I’m letting the two flies on my arm get on with what the birds and the bees do,

maybe that wil make up for their relatives I consigned to oblivion earlier.

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