A gloomy footnote.  

The story about the boy on the raft isn't going to be published by Sue and her mate after all. We had a falling out. We had a difference of opinion. I thought the story was about a kid trapped in a cold, dysfunctional nuclear family and that his running away to sea in the teeth of a force nine gale was, if not an attempt at suicide, at least a form of Russian roulette. My would-be publishers thought that the poor kid needed to 'grow in wisdom!' and wouldn't it be nice if he made it up with his mummy and daddy and they bought him a real boat for his pains?  All mummies and daddies really love their children, it's a known fact.

Errr......?
 







An even gloomier footnote
.


On the day after my 58th birthday to the Unley Library.
By the entrance, a trolley. On the trolley a bunch of dead books no longer deemed worthy of shelf space. "Make Us An Offer" implores the handwritten sign. I run a languid eye over the10c tedious vols and am not tempted. But then I notice the familiar cover of The Book of Revelation by those hacks Barnes and Broderick. With a hollow laugh I fish a ten cent piece from my pocket and proffer it to the librarian. 10c is good enough for her....

Walking home I test the vol for spinal stiffness. Good as new. I am the first to look upon its pages.

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