In A Scottish Garden
Frustrated geography, what you miss being on the wrong side of the border.
All that lovely Scottish heather and all those bonny birds are not the daily delight of those whose eyes are bounded by Portobello Road. As you dally on the kerbside looking for a bargain in old Victoriana, how you must wish you were in a Scottish garden with ROSANNE STUART.
If you don’t wish that, then old Victoriana has got a neurotic hold on you and you’ll only cure yourself by butting sandbags. Wait until it leaves off and then give yourself another twenty-four hours to clear your head of ringing noises.
You’re cured. You begin to think of a Scottish garden adorned by sweet Rosanne.
Soon you can think of nothing else. You’re all neurotic again.
You return to that heap of sandbags.
Life for people with complexes is all butt.