Writers write… punters punt

And, one assumes, ‘zinesters ‘zine.  That ace ‘zinester of our virtual present, Chris Locke,  sent another minor missive today which seemed largely to focus on one Pagan Kennedy, although Joseph Smith, a stone canoe, and a large and hungry shark also appeared.  (Oddly, Leona Helmsley did not appear; oddly, that is, in the context of a rhymed proximity to the “Queen of ‘zine” and her recent death.  One presumes these cheap, if not exactly free associations, might have made a citation quite likely).  One can, of course, subscribe to Mr. Locke’s e-letter containing this and much more mental fuel by clicking here and just figuring things out.  One can always unsubscribe, an action our intrepid ‘zinester from time to time has been known to  encourage (culling the misfits, as it were, or the fits perhaps since the misfits sometimes seem more to fit than those others).

As one can tell from one’s use of the indefinite pronoun if nothing else, one has not yet been thrown out of England where one is experiencing an enormous internal pressure to conform and to use proper, well… English.  But enough of that. One is off, actually two are off, to what the TimeOut guide to London calls an “exuberant monument to consumerism.“   It is a pilgrimage of sorts, here in the decenary of the death of Di, a pilgrimage to the once royally warranted but recently, indeed over the last decade since the death of the Princess of Wales, royally unpatronized department store.  Pictures perhaps will be taken.  By one.