Friday, 27 November 2009


The ability to predict, like alchemy, is something of a holy grail which has been sought all throughout the recorded mists and depths of hoary time; after all he (or she) who could predict the future as well as changing crabby dirt into the most precious of gold, would control the reins of power and have an easy life - even if having to watch your back for the knife.

Sadly, the ability to predict the winner at the 15.10 race at kempton by taking a wild guess based on whether a horse has a particular letter in its names; but you have never seen a race, let alone any of the horses in the race is the same as predicting when/if/how/why you will fall in/over/out (whilst wondering what those effervescing electrons actually do whilst cascading down the pathway towards that ethereal social meme) of love and predicting (for a year) all of the world's lottery games lottery numbers correctly.

Now where did i put my 50 year predictions... oh bugger!

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