In The Middle Of The Night.

Have you ever seen a girl attempt to barbecue a Flinstones sized shoulder of lamb? I have.

Have you ever found yourself singing a song in the shower that you only remember the first four lines of?

I have. It was River Of Dreams by Billy Joel this morning. I shall reprint the lyrics forthwith in case the same thing ever happens to you. We have to help each other out wherever we can!

In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep From the mountains of faith To the river so deep I must be lookin' for something Something sacred I lost But the river is wide And it's too hard to cross even though I know the river is wide I walk down every evening and stand on the shore I try to cross to the opposite side So I can finally find what I've been looking for In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep Through the valley of fear To a river so deep I've been searching for something Taken out of my soul Something I'd never lose Something somebody stole I don't know why I go walking at night But now I'm tired and I don't want to walk anymore I hope it doesn't take the rest of my life Until I find what it is I've been looking for In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep Through the jungle of doubt To the river so deep I know I'm searching for something Something so undefined That it can only be seen By the eyes of the blind In the middle of the night

’M’not sure about a life after this God knows I've never been a spiritual man Baptized by the fire, I wade into the river That is runnin' to the promised land

In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep Through the desert of the truth To the river so deep We all end in the ocean We all start in the streams We're all carried along By the river of dreams In the middle of the night

Anyway, I engaged in the rat race this morning. That was pretty mad. There's a weird sweat that clings to a person engaging in the rat race. I'd forgotten about it. For a while back there, when I was living in that squat in Finsbury Park, I'd have to get up at 7, after three hours of junky deprived sleep on a dank mattress, tip-toe my way through the needles, and insert myself into the tubecrush, en route to South Kensington. People are really pissed off at that time of the morning, all wedged together under a film of sleepsweat in a big metal snake, off to do something they hate for no good reason. Eyeballs burn the back of flaky necks with a hatred borne of frustration and confusion. I left that shit behind years ago. But, you know, I could easily end up back there any time. I don't mind so much. I've had a good innings. You could lop off my head tomorrow, and I'd have done more than most the slaves in this global death camp ever got to dream about. I have been a very lucky boy. Sometimes, you wake up to the warmth of a hot pink creature, trembling in dream, and even a bloody eyeball that feels like its got a drawing pin wedged in it can't hide the fact that life, in all its lunacy, is pretty fucking sweet. I guess the hippies were right after all.