…to my Author Muse… where do yeez go to my LUVLY?… with apologies to Peter Sarstedt… #TBSU…

…some of yeez of a certain age may recall in the late ‘sixties a gentleman who rejoiced in the name of Peter Sarstedt, he of the elegantly hirsute physiognomy… one of his best known lyrics asked (I suppose of a romantic liaison or other), ‘where do yeez go to my LUVLY?’… and his aim ‘to get inside her head’… well, chacun a son gout and all that… these days, the reverse applies with this ol’ Jurassic pondering of my Author Muse, why she doesn’t more regularly frequent the inside of my head… many of my scribbling pals on here share from time to time how and where they go to muster up the inspiration for their various masterpieces… I’ve become more and more a creature of habit (mostly good and innocent habit, I plead)… if yeez click on the wee sidebar thingy here yeez’ll see the Jumeirah at Etihad Towers Hotel, whose 5-and-a-bit-more-star lobby I haunt on the mornings when I wanna do my Greta Garbo gig… to ‘be alone’ and wander round my mind whilst tapping away vigorously at the laptop… other writers indulge a four-hour single-cuppa-coffee stint at the local Starbucks, wedged among sundry lookalike wannabe future Rowlings-es and Steinbecks-es… I know of some who prefer a home cubby-hole with heavy metal bursting their eardrums… then there’s the soothing classical music or crooning balladeer fans doing their softer, gentler summoning of their respective Muses… whatever WURKS, I say, go for it… there’s as many different Muses as there are quill-scrapers out there… (just a passing thought… p’raps they have a meeting place to go to of their own… a Muses-eum?)… meantime, whilst yeez ponder my nonsense, have a listen to Master Sarstedt… he was actually very listenable… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ…