Sleep Furiously?

Your ubiquitous desire when you're realizing that today just turned tomorrow again, an army of sun rays and bird trill arrows are playfully attacking your morning eye lids, cryptic words are stimulating your confused thoughts in grey rooms or when you're dreaming of a Welsh train that doesn't stop at your station. Speaking of which, the Welsh countryside definitely has its repertoire of "sleep-don't sleep" charms, and I'm very much looking forward to see more qualified opinions on this issue. But if I come to think of it, what Wales was doing with us one of these weekends was simply passionate cooking.



Ingredients: a charming canal, a **** narrowboat, a heterogeneous mix of consciousnesses, some rum, a one in a million Eurovision show, drunken Shepard's rain (ploaie mocaneasca), black headed sheep, a silent guitar, some Voodoo, a great captain, pure rock'n'roll, the strongest boat-stopping wind ever, summer's rain, Table Mountain, the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, Estonian castles, the best cherries in the world, dreams and fairytales, an imaginary pipe, dusk pancakes, Abergavenny kebaps and curry, E1243, E2345 and E4353.



Directions: mixing, mixing, mixing (for three days, adding ideas, rain and rum "by taste"/"dupa gust") - something Cymru excels in, given its unchallengeable skills in consonant shuffling for linguistic purposes.



The result: a delicious pudding with early summer flavors of another sweet memory to be used in hiraethlon times.



And somehow all this reminded me of "jocul ielelor" tonight, and gave me a furious desire for sleep... Nos da!