100 miles in 4 days

be the living hokey

I spent ALL DAY submitting an application to a Certain Arty Techy College in south Dublin co - their application form spared nothing in its relentless search for a detailed accounting for every minute of one's life since conception. It was quite tiring papering over the many cracks in my illustrious career.
I must really want that job. I do! I want that job.

In other news, the form is good, I am feeling groovy. Even if JB is pushing off to see his father tomorrow, and after that will jump athletically onto a plane to Boston for a conference.
Speaking of athletics, sort of, good, these Olympics, eh? Phelps. WOW. And Jamaican 100m sprinter, whose name escapes me - like  superhuman. I am being amused by the gossipy Irish commentary, all about who is clean, who is dodgy, whose coach hasn't a clue, why such-and-such got injured. They talk as if they have never heard of a minor detail called slander. It's a hoot.
Another hoot is this letter written by my cousin in 1976 in Adelaide. I dug the pack of letters out at the weekend - they are quite the time capsules with their references to the "lushness" of the Human League's lead singer, and boys, and the rich inner lives of our hobby horses.

Letter That Sherald was the real biche, don't you agree?


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