Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Monday, 13 April 2020
My imaginary friend has left me, he just vanished in the night.
I called my psychiatrist and told him. He said: "Congratulations you are cured".
I said: "I don't want to be cured,