There has been an incident. It may yet affect my consumer rights in a proposed retail action, so for the moment it must remain sub judice.
August 29th – Les journaux sont imprimés, Les ouvriers sont déprimés
Category: The Diary
August 15th – Just like Humpty Dumpty, I’m going to fall. And I’m sitting on top of the world, Just rolling along, rolling along.
It is more akin to taking the kinks out of a garden hose. Hence, rising from a sitting position can undo all the good you’ve done in but a short motion.
August 13th – It’s a thousand pages, give or take a few, I’ll be writing more in a week or two.
There was nothing that he or his staff could do about it. That’s not quite true of course, because the chain of causality can be chased back to me.
August 8th – The time to hesitate is through, No time to wallow in the mire.
There’s something casual and half-arsed about it, as if a bunch of nine-year-olds have been given free reign to organise their own party, and on arriving suddenly realise that no one’s done it for them.
July 31st – Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away, On my way to where the air is sweet.
I went to collect mine at the Telegraph Office, and pass it on here for those of you who are beyond the reach of the telegraph poles.
July 30th – She was born in spring, but I was born too late.
She’s karma, energy, balance, I don’t know her name, but I know what it feels like when she comes to dispense justice.
July 27th – I am he as you are he as you are me, And we are all together.
Some have talked about experiencing a transcendent sensation about halfway through.
July 25th – I’m crazy like a fool, Wild about daddy cool.
But he immediately wrong foots me when he next says, ‘don’t you have a scintilla of remorse for the part you played?’
July 21st – Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes.
I have started to examine my motivations, and I do not come out of this well.
July 19th – She may be the song that summer sings, maybe the chill that autumn brings, maybe a hundred different things, within the measure of a day.
As she lifts the glass to her lips, still hardly a word spoken, a key is turned in the lock. She looks at me as if I’ve played a trick on her.
Dickie White's Diary 