"Alone, I am drunk on my thoughts; in company, I am sober again."
I'm back at work, but I am haunted by the spectre of unfinished business. In idle mode my mind usually unhooks itself from any rational thinking. In the recently unfinished entry which alluded to something I saw on 'This Morning' which I watched whilst in what I nearly called "idle loaf mode" before coming partly to my senses and ridding the sentence of a scandalous tautology, an image on the programme in question is staying with me. Stubbornly rooted into my consciousness like a squatter - the feature involved a succession of nearly, ( day time telly ain't the zenith for models), beautiful women displaying summery outfits, (yeah right, where're you going?). All outfits were different, but all shared a stylistic imperative. As each lady sashayed towards the TV camera on the makeshift catwalk (more of a kittywalk really) with Fern and her new geezer-helper and the proud designer looking on, one by one they hiked up their skirts and showed the world, (and me),their knickers. Knickers which only partially matched the rest of the outfit so not part of an un sexy ensemble (like bikini bottoms or those ghastly stunted cycling shorts now favoured by women tennis players). These were thin lacy affairs, the style which, should a chap be lucky enough to catch a fleeting, illicit glimpse in his daily life; his day, if not his week, if not his year is usually made a happier one.
Fashions move on. Knickers have gone public!