Ojos chicos de mi cuerpo y grandes de mi caballo. And so on. Them wot know their Lorca will know what I’m talking about. This vexed Ukraine shindig is beginning to give me another bad case of rabiosa silentia. I’m sure it’ll pass, though; they generally do. Meanwhile, have a post Easter feline and his mates. They speak for me. Now more than ever. Update 23/04/14 And just in case I wasn’t making myself clear… This is for each and every child whose life and limb and childhood has been destroyed, when not obliterated, by some underpaid and overindoctrinated slave with half a brain operating a video game machine in in some godforsaken underground basement somewhere deep down under the Nevada desert. The little Spook Dancer has come to the Elysian Fields of Defiled Childhood to bring loads of Celestial Icecream to the poor wee wretched wraiths who inhabit them, in an attempt to assuage their alienation. NB. I’m not sentimental about children, but I do feel incredibly sorry for them. Especially those who died, and still die, everyday,  in agony and terror because the pshychopaths du jour in power think that’s expedient to kill as many peasants as possible, as quickly as possible and to the least cost to their filthy pockets. A pox on them all. Update 03/05/14 Too knackered for anything else, here be a few New-Improved versions. 1. An homage to beloved and much missed Iain Banks. 2. The new-look Story of Edwina. These last three I dedicate to my good compadrito, Don Attilio “El Caffarenito”, bearer of wild flowers to a dead red, red Rosa. Cheers, mate.

NoliMeTangereSweetToothFivetideThe AffronterStoryOfEdwina1StoryOfEdwina2StoryOfEdwina3