They say that time heals all wounds. Except amputation, I suspect.

Thursday, 24 March 1994 Dear S, The Day of Reckoning is at hand, this day is filled with strange portents.  The cock did crow at midnight blackest, the cow’s teats did issue forth Grants Scotch Whiskey (we’re keeping that cow) and the sky did crack open and wobblesome jelly desserts poured forth on the innocent street dwellers.  This night I do split with Leah.  Am … Continue reading They say that time heals all wounds. Except amputation, I suspect.