At times its good to sing a song to yourself just to get the lyrical pleasure from the words. Steely Dan's “Deacon Blues” works for me and better than best today I learned why they call Alabama the Crimson Tide. It's nothing to do with racial tension, shoot outs or a bloodbath following the call up of the National Guard. It's just American football and an auburn coloured mudslide and a victory that took place some hundred years ago. I wonder if Deacon Blue ever considered writing a song called Steely Dan?
“I'll learn to work the saxophone, I'll play just what I feel, drink Scotch whisky all night long and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world, I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide, call me Deacon Blues.”
And so it came to pass that sensual and heady mix of deep heather honey and crisp breakfast biscuits carried me away upon a perfect cloud of clear thought and reasoning to place where I could contemplate and create the mantra and manifesto that is set to become the centrepiece of the way ahead for the New Pragmatists. God bless them and all who sail and put their shaky faith in them. I need to learn to touch type and dictate simultaneously so that the rapid flow of ideas and concepts can be fully captured and none of the detail or nuances are lost. That's what usually happens and it all ends as a screw up despite all the good intentions unless the latent power of the lentils prevail. All indicators hint at this being an accurate indication.