Political Correctness Is A Minefield

Love And Kindness Go Hand In Hand.

I Used To Write In Bed, Starting When I Woke Up. I Believe That Creative Work Comes From Our Subconscious Mind, So I Try To Keep The Gap Between Sleep And Writing As Minimal As Possible.

The Back Windows Looked Out Over The Fields, Then The Atlantic, Maybe A Hundred Yards Away. Actually, I'm Just Making That Bit Up. I Had No Idea How Far Away The Sea Was. Only Men Could Do Things Like That. "half A Mile." "fifty Yards." Giving Directions, That Sort Of Thing. I Could Look At A Woman And Say "thirty-six C." Or "let's Try It In The Next Size Up." But I Had No Idea How Far Away Tim's Sea Was Except That I Wouldn't Want To Walk To It In High Heels.

I Sighed. "what Is Life But Fleeting Moments Of Happiness Strung Together On Necklace Of Despair?

I Rang My Mother To Thank Her For Giving Birth To Me And She Said, "what Choice Had I? You Were In There, How Else Were You Going To Get Out?