As Yet Untitled.




Dearest Kolee

It is a long time since we first met, all those many moons ago in December 2011, 
when you came to me for  ..   help.    Oh !  is it really that long    ?
You were in a bit of a mess then Kolee, and at our first meeting I has to stifle a giggle 
?remember. That was when you told me to go ...    !hmm ..   after you'd told me about the theme-park trauma the day before, when the log flume turned out to be a log flue, 
and how a cold, winter's day in Luton can take you unawares. 
And there, K, trauma beget re-trauma, and the rest, as they say, be hysteria.. !hmmm

Now I know  a lot of water has flown under the bridge since then, and it's not all been plain sailing betwixt us, Ms. ?Ynnit, but I have grown very fond of you (as you know); more than that even.
So it came as a bit of a blow to me to find out things regarding our recent   rendez-vous 
and why, precisely, you decided to 'drop me off' at that  exact  stretch of the M4.
My heart has taken a fair bit of a bashing over the years, K, as you'll know, exacerbated I dare say by your comings and goings and various shenanigans.
Yesterday, however, was in many ways, the final straw that brought the camel back.
Without being over-melodramatic about this, Kolee, my heart has just been pierced by the last sling or arrow of egregious fortune, maybe even fatally so.

On Tuesday 26th July, dear Kolee, as part of your  Peeps' Chump  series  presumably,
you published a letter, well the beginnings of suche from an unknown sender, someone to whom you referred as  TWIMC  - whatever! the fuck that mean                ( ?!innit  )
Well, tpis, you cut the sender off, most forcibly as I recall. On the grounds that the moderator (you) had found that standards had been compromised. Although you proceeded to refer to Bono  as .. well, in a way that was pretty discourteous I have to say,  even if it was true. 

In the part of the letter which was shown, the author spoke of a  hole  (Slough), 
20 miles or so down the M4 from TheSmoke, where people and things mysteriously disappear.  One might think it akin to  a vortex scenario,  except that will remind you of your local bingo-hall and then you'll have nightmares about people's housey-houseys being swallowed up by the void.
So, researching The Slough Hole  - what the locals dub  
The Bare-Moodah Triangle - I discovered stuff disturbing on so many levels, if i may ..  . .    ..    ...


 O  ! !fs  !shutthefukup  innit    ?  Sikment   an lissen  2me        ..       .   .               .



And now, dear readers, allow me to interrupt, and explain :