There Is A Light

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I’m not talking about a faulty fridge here. Or the front of an oncoming train. I was taking my annual shower this morning. The acoustics c/o the Italian marble are tip top by the way. And The Waterboys My Dark Side was channeled. Well I told you it was a year since my last foray.

‘I’ve been hurt, but I’m alright because underneath, there is a light.’

Whatever transpires in the next days or perhaps even hours – if we are lucky to get a quick kill – it’s important to retain a sense of perspective. It hurts like hell when you make an emotional attachment to something and it blows up in your face.  I say you’re a liar if you say otherwise. You’re not impervious to the pain. Nobody is. We’re only ever working on that.

The sense of impending doom looming over this whole Modric business has left me feeling decidedly and understandably disenchanted with all things football shaped. Like Basil Fawlty on his last legs. ‘What is the point, Polly? I mean, what is the point?’

Players come and go. It’s worse now than it ever was. But it’s always been that way.

That said, there is a light. It’s a tad dim right now. But it’s a pilot light that does not go out. It’s a frequently flickering flame but one that you don’t need the freephone number Timothy Spall’s artificially dusky tones emit from every telly and radio. British Gaaaaaaaas.

Here are a couple of videos to help you get your appetite back courtesy of … twistedbutlogical. Take one daily and see how you feel after a day or two.

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