|DON'T BELIEVE THE DATES THEY'RE ALL SCREWED|
Tuesday, 26 June 2018
I came here to tell you the perfect love story, but all I can see when I close my eyes is a giant hand, about the size of a grown man. The hand is giving the middle finger and is teetering on the back of a small rowing boat, several miles off the Icelandic coast. It has been sentenced to death. The hand is hard to make out, not least because of it being an unusual sight to behold (on a boat too!), but also because it’s the dead of night, and there is only a thin slice of moonlight illuminating the scene. Just as soon as I have a handle on its precarious form, the image shifts, as the hand topples off the back of the boat and slithers into the anonymity of the icy black water. The execution has begun. The giant hand, still firmly locked in the middle finger position now begins to sink. As it descends slowly down through the dark water it never shifts from its defiant form, paying no heed to the bitter cold or awful white faces of the hunting bone sharks.
DON'T BELIEVE THE DATES THEY'RE ALL WRONG WRONG WRONGPS - Whatever you end up doing, make sure YOU make the difference!
Posted by Simon Buckley at 12:56