Celtic Darkness

I wish I could say that it caught me by surprise, I wish I could say that she walked in through the bathroom window like a dark unexpected guest, I wish I could say that I was driving well within the limits on a slow and easy motorway and didn't see the HGV cross the carriageway before it snuffed out all that was well and good within my ford mondeo. Walt has moaned at me for years. "Oh please don't start moaning already . . .we're still in August." But as soon as we pass the sun in the third month of June, the inevitable nightmare is drawing in. And tonight, finally, the clocks go back. Of-course we don't technically enter the Celtic period of darkness until Halloween has been and gone. But, as ever, and as ever since I reached the age of reason, I haven't got a fucking clue how I will get through the next eight weeks. I heard a lyric today which I think went something like this . . .pray for the people inside your head, for they will be there when you are dead. . . Beautiful. November is the month of souls.