I was tidying up some files on my computinator earlier this evening and happened to chance upon a couple of neatly typed paragraphs from Groover from the past. Reading them through I was struck by the fact that very little seemed to have change in either my disposition or my way of documenting the world. Oh well:
“It was the twenty eighth of February and 2004 and I was hovering somewhere near unconsciousness, slumped on a bench in a windswept northern station. There were no trees here that I could see and as the pain shot through my head, my last thought was that stations are no place for people.
I woke to the sound of the intercity 2036 moving through at high speed. Two hundred feet of poorly assembled metal and plastic shooting across the open plains of England like the righteous fury of a vengeful god. Damn these cheap stanzas and all that they foretell.”