Hurrah - Hannah's got us on t'internet so after a long three weeks we're now free to surf, blog, play and do all the things that all self-respecting ether-buffs can do!! But - it's late and head hurts so updates (and what a lot there are!) tomorrow - from, yes actually from, Boosh Barn - the confirmed official address of our residence where we now reside!!
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before
Who's been to Boosh Barn?
The Barn
before
The Brain
- Babooshka
- Cheshire, United Kingdom
- You know how it is, you're just going about your daily business - work, rest and if you're lucky, some play. Suddenly you get socked on the head and everything changes BIG style, it all goes very horribly wrong. So here I am, brain haemorrhage survivor (and there aren't many of us), keeping the grey matter alive by writing this blog. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.
Boosh Links
- Prose & Comms - my writing space
- Hannah's official website
- Eyes Wide Open - Hannah's blog
- Hannah's My Space space
- Tom's My Space space
- Davenham Players
- Dinosaur Pileup, the band that Tom's in
- The 100 Club - Scott's band blog
- Menai Marine - Tim's official website
- Scott's My Space space
- The Roustabout - Chris's official website
- Behind The Gray-the site for SAH survivors
- the Figaro site
- Services Sound & Vision Corporation
2 comments:
Nice you're back.
Mum was only asking me earlier what Shirl's address would be.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
Beauty walked alone in the garden, tending her flowers, listening to the birdsong and imagining rhymes. The sun shone and the nights were never cold.
In her house, in a picturebook, there was a world where flood and famine reigned. Creatures were persecuted by men who, in turn, fell out with each other. In places where they talked, people dreamed aloud of better things. They yearned for better than a bestial existence.
Why, ever, would such a world come about? she thought. She resolved to write a better story. The creatures might not live forever, but wouldn't betray each other.
She gave up going in the garden, and didn't hear the birdsong, so much did she concentrate. The hours became days and the days, months. Still the story wouldn't finish itself.
Finally, the day came when the wrapping was put round the book and it was to be placed on her shelf, next to the others which had come from somewhere. She hesitated: it all seemed so false, these stories, this make-believe of a different place. Outside was the garden, so neglected.
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