On the right day, anything
On the wrong day, nothing.
On the right day, I can fly
On the wrong day, I may well die.
Personal anecdote, not necessarily related:
The other day I met a chap who I suppose is only fat cat I know of a sort. He used to be an oil advisor to Blair. Four years ago at a party I argued with him for hours and a bottle of whisky (drunk by me, I'm afraid) about the likely price of oil over the next decade and the implosion of the credit-driven economy. He spouted his lines, his regurgitated shite, his cribsheet until he was blue in the face, and then he burst into tears and apologised for the shit that he was peddling.
After consoling him I walked six miles home in the dawn, then we zoomed off to London for about another day and night of carousing and playing music in three different places. When I finally got to bed I had to read a book for a couple of hours to get some sleep.
I saw him again last week. He cut me dead.
Ready To Rock
1 month ago