There’s been an unfriendly takeover today. The circus is lining up to conga dance my Ireland trip into folklore. Another story to share with the turkey each December. Another blade to tap tap tap deeper til the space between wounds, the healthy flesh, is unrecognisable. So. They’re all ticketed up. Let’s do it their way. My enthusiasm wanes as the mulberry bush beckons. I’ve been round before. I don’t need to speak. I exist but I am not here. I will find some joy across the water but not what I’ve been looking for. Just flow along the told path. Don’t share your dreams. Mud comes back at you.