pinky poseur.

I'm at my wits end. I've been trying to do this all day and keep getting binned out of the site and losing all my florid prose. I don't know whether its blip or my crap three year old phone spinning out of control.
Before I get going again and hopefully for the last time can I just apologise for my lack of engagement lately, just one more hour in a day would do the trick, but hey ho.
Anyway, here is Elsa in mid pink hair dying session doing her best to look like a sixteenth century Dutch milk maid. No sooner had her hair dried than we dashed out to Highbury Corner and the Union Chapel for an evening of singing christmas songs in the company of Sunday Assembly who I think I've mentioned before. They are a secular congregation who promote mindfulness and social well being through pop songs. Sounds a bit stupid but has good intentions and is actually good, and fun. I can't believe I'm saying that, I must have been indoctrinated.
In amongst belting out your Mariah Carey and George Michael christmas hits we were entrapped by a poet who I want to promote. His name is Rob Auton and he shuffled on, a shredded bag of nerves, looking like he wanted to run off at any minute. His long prose poem was a mixture of humourous self analysis and touching life lessons on the verge of collapse. He was brilliant, and not acting. We saw him after and congratulated him and he was genuinely touched and surprised that we liked him.
Then we sang Bohemian Rhapsody, not a christmas song but it was a christmas number one.