My dirge, a pathetic coronach, for the current state of being, especially for us of a certain age.
There’s a Proclaimers’ song* that goes:
“Lochaber no more, Sutherland no more, Lewis no more, Skye no more ...” and it gets stuck in my brain some days.
My head is dolefully singing: “Travel no more, travel no more, travel no more ... .”
In my best impersonation of an Edinburgh accent. Pronounced Em-bruh.
* Letter from America. How utterly befitting.
Airlines are suffering. Cruise ship companies are suffering. Holiday resorts are suffering.
What a world, this new world.
The United States of America are at odds with each other; Canadians want none of it, none of them. They could walk 500 miles to be here (I’m on my way) but we keep the border closed.
Sorrow ... sorrow ... sorrow ... travel no more.
Before the Internet breaks, savour the virtual tours of places you’ve been, places you’ve never been, all the humanity you will never meet, all the portions you did.
Diluted joy, but I’m gonna dream about the time when I’m with you ...
gonna be okay
We're gonna be more than okay