What’s your idea of desolation? Is it a place, a barren desertified landscape, pocked with tumbleweeds and sun-bleached bone fragments?

I feel like I have set up a deckchair there, and am sitting waiting for the rain to come. I wonder if it will?

That may seem melodramatic- I’ll accept that I occasionally lean towards that- but when you’re there, well, all you see is the horizon.

It could be that desolation is the absence of people, or the sensation of being not an individual but a blurred face in the crowd.

It could be that I need a good night’s sleep.

I hope that the book has more readers than this blog-  which for the time-being appears to be stumbled upon by people googling things like ‘boobfruit’.

Good grief.

I may have said ‘loinfruit’ in reference to the offspring, but what, pray tell, are boobfruit?

Does this mean that if I attach the word ‘fruit’ to random body parts, I will get readers?

Bumfruit

Neckfruit

Shoulderfruit

Toefruit

Backfruit

Facefruit

Fingerfruit

See, I have to keep it clean. Nobody will come back if I say ‘p*nisfruit*

Hey! Come back!