Or, more acurately, there's too much in it.Where do you start?Never mind the boundless internet and unlimited blogs and where they lead (Barbara's bleugh or Emerging writer or womenwrulewriter blogs alone have enough interesting links to last anyone a lifetime) And what about all the books, films, stories, plays ,poems? What about other choices- all the places to go (Paris ,New York, Carlow) and all the places to live.All the questions all those answers.How do you know you read the right book , or turned down the wrong street? So many houses, how do you know you spent all those years in the right one? Life may have been unbelievably good in the next street /town/country.Billions of people, did you snog/marry /kill the right one? It's like that film about this Piano player(Legend of 1900) that was born on a boat and he can never leave it because there's too many places to go -how could he choose, where would he start? Then there's all the photos and paintings in all the galleries and I have seen hardly any of them, no matter how I try. Then I'm on holiday walking the bridge over the Thames to Tate modern and this fella is kneeling down nose to the ground and he's painting on the miniscule trodden flat pieces of chewing gum .Tiny(albeit shite, but that's not the point I'm making) intricate work that if you didn't see him do it you would never know it was there and my poor auld pissed-up pea-brained head is wrecked before I even clap mince pies on a Francis Bacon.
(By the way yer man paints on bubble gum because it not part of the bridge it's just attached to it and if he painted on the actual bridge/pavement he would be arrested. )
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