Mauvais, mal, misère...

I'm laying bare my hand. I have, no tricks. Something similar is happening in America: the Great. Trump is naked irony amassed while over here the press wets itself with concatenation (Brexit/Regrexit). Summer is happening and while summer's definitely nice, it does enhance the smell of piss in the Kingdom's capital. Persistent niggles, discomforts and disappointments amass into a shit-show. When I receive my pap smear results in the post I open the envelope to read 'all clear' and I'm flooded with joy. I've been so starved of good news that to be considered medically 'normal' is a shockingly positive assessment. Despite a love for London, it doesn't love me back. I settle for the nuzzling affection of a neighbour's cat. I've fallen for her bow-legged trot, downcast eyes and ageing greys. Kitty can do no wrong, and when I find a poo in the garden or a cat-shaped impression in one of our plants, it's always some other hoodish cat that's to blame. Black cat, crossed my path, I think everyday is gonna be my...

Mercy!