Who was right Simon and Garfunkle, or John Dunne. No man is an island,
entire of itself
every man is part of the main
This morning introspection is brought on by climbing slabs yesterday which were so toughly graded that they reminded me of the Belgium cliffs. When 6s feel like 7s. Boulevard de Vol is still waiting for me Mr T'Kint.
This is an early photo of my dear self at 6 months, a heavy baby, my weight was always to be a problem.
Jeff, ensconced in the Dwarf, 'how many pastitzee will we eat today'. Jeff climbs under an island, while a few billion watch football.
Sometimes I am a mountain, sometimes I am an island. And who could think up the name Garfunkle, a man who had a pocketful of promises.
This was a view I had a few weeks ago when I'd like to say I was reading Dante, and Schiller in their original language, but in reality I was reading a La Stampa news paper with a lot of burly workmen.
I walk past your old house Emile, and always see you standing on a summit, you are an island, your head above a sea of normality, an independent nation.
The crystal clarity of the mountains is rarely duplicated in men and women now a days, with the explosion of useless shit that is now available for you, being an island is damn near impossible, we are just a crowded beach full of dog ends, sun burnt, flabby, work tired, 'smart' phone toting drones, stairing at other peoples wives, jealously guarding our two meters of sand.
