Aphorisms IV

It’s late.

It feels late, like time has been wasted or the clock has advanced beyond where it seems like it should have. But it didn’t. There are sixty seconds in every minute.

Is late – is time itself – all about our perception of how quickly life is going?

Maybe.

Sometimes it is just late. And you’re tired. And you want to go to bed.

It’s late for much of the time I’m awake.

It is possible to get an insight into the nature of a dog’s training and home environment from the way they behave when you take them in when they seem lost.

I wonder if Domino and Lily are the best ambassadors for their Mummy and I.

Port or sherry? Port.

So many noises seem to have been added to mechanical processes in order that we will trust there is indeed something happening, when it seems like nothing is, that when computers and other machines start breaking down the signs of deterioration can be missed.

And then they die.

The tuest thing is often the rudest.

Honesty involves lies.

Many quotable lines were delivered in error. That’s why they resonate.

It is impossible to say something quotable on purpose, unless you are Oscar Wilde. And he’s no longer with us. Which is a shame. And he would be 156 if he was here, and so he isn’t, which is understandable.

Bin night is once a week. It seems more frequent than that. Bin night, meet the concept of lateness. You’ll have a bit to talk about.

Actually, you’ll both need me in that discussion.

Nothing to see here.

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Published in: on November 8, 2010 at 7:13 pm  Leave a Comment  

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