Anyway, finally; I’m off to the Coast

If you’ve been following along (and I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t) you’ll know I’m still in Ashburton, comfortably parked at the pump-shed, 3 Smyths Road, due to the grace and kindness of Andrew and Annette McCully (whom I love by the way).

I have replenished, re-provisioned, filled and emptied so as to be starting off afresh; there is a certain almost fetish delight in tipping the bus over in the paddock in order to drain the very last dregs out of the grey tank before hitting the road. Perhaps it’s a bit like a dog pissing on a marker of his territory warning others not to come here. No, lay off the wine, John; totally silly imagination you have. No, it’s not like that; it is simply the reflection of a deep-seated profound desire, a fetish indeed, to continually hit the road with minimal baggage…(this Yale course is leading me down all kinds of perilous pathways).

Be that is it may, pure speculation…that reminds me of what Professor Fry said (paraphrasing) regarding literary theory; the outcome of the endeavour need not result in an application within the current cultural, production and political systems; in other words it is not beholden to anything or anyone as sharp minds explore using all the powers of the growing learning intellect.

It’s almost inevitable, I’m thinking; ongoing profound speculation for no reason.