A cabaret of souls
Bill McMellon muses on heat, music and words
The rhythm is cool and the weather is hot, hot, hot
So sings Rastamouse as we drive with our little granddaughters through the Sussex heatwave. It is hot, hot, hot indeed. Sleepless nights under a sheet. I have a headache as I type. There have been wonderful afternoons on the beach, or at the lido, but I have been finding it all something of a struggle.
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