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welcome to the wilderness 023

There is a place I take my mind, much like walking a small dog. (The sort that chews your slippers? Perhaps. It stops it chewing itself to pieces, anyway). This place matches the wilderness in my head, or comes close to it. I don’t go here very often, but when I do, in the manner of Winnie-the-Pooh, I sit and cogitate about ideas and answers to the Great Unsolved Questions, like “What is zero?” and “Why do potatoes turn green?” and “Do old people ever snog?” but without the clutching-my-head-and-mumbling-think-think-think bit, which would look extremely weird to anybody who is just walking their small dog and not expecting to see a dogless woman zonked out by the side of the path taking her brain for a stroll instead.

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