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  1. As a mere, also-ran, don’t mess with us, Brit, I realise that I really shoud not be commenting on your “Colonial” political matters.

    However, as some sort of still mostly sane, former old fishing hippy, these ancient song lyrics suddenly and quite unaccountably intruded upon my probably fast-dimming and certainly erratic consciousness just now….

    “Brain Damage” (by the Pink Floyd, early 1970s, when some some of us were still arguably sane and weren’t being serially hit on even when we were not.)

    The lunatic is on the grass.
    The lunatic is on the grass.
    Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs.
    Got to keep the loonies on the path.

    The lunatic is in the hall.
    The lunatics are in my hall.
    The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
    And every day the paper boy brings more.

    And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
    And if there is no room upon the hill
    And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
    I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

    The lunatic is in my head.
    The lunatic is in my head
    You raise the blade, you make the change
    You re-arrange me ’til I’m sane.
    You lock the door
    And throw away the key
    There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.

    And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
    You shout and no one seems to hear.
    And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes
    I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

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