Ok. Yes. Barton Fink is a film. I knew that. I did. Honest.
Would I lie to you?
So. The holiday. Definitely going to tell you all about the holiday. Except ...
Not really in the mood. It's Friday night. I'm still young. I should be out there. A few drinks. Friends. Laughter. Bit of music. Fun. Frolic. Froth.
Instead. Stuck in with Madame Misery. She's tired. She's got no money. So much housework to do and her life is a wasteland because she doesn't have a solar lighted Eiffel Tower. Or the sunshine to power it.
Try turning that into a musical comedy.
Apparently she is going to put on her serious pyjamas. Big boy pyjamas. Pyjamas that shout "See that tub of ice cream. I'm eating it all. And I'm eating it in bed. Without you." And her fluffy Latvian socks. She might read a bit of her lovely green and white vintage Penguin copy of "The Department of Dead Ends". She might not.
I'm just going to sneak off to my corner and try not to draw attention to myself. Do a bit of thinking. Hang on. Here's an idea. Richard Hawley - Coles Corner. Smooth and soothing. Enjoy.
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