I know what you're wondering. You're wondering how much more I can ring out of the Beauty and the Beasts post I put up on 2nd May and referred back to again on 12th May.
You're wondering how someone so seemingly fluid in thought has the nerve to waste your time by chopping on about monsters again.
You're wondering how someone so seemingly infallible is so frightened of the opening 10 minutes of Carry on Screaming he can't bear to watch it. You're wondering how someone so seemingly flawless is even more terrified of balloons than he is of the aforementioned film. You're wondering what any of this has to do with anything.
Because as the night and the moon and the stars give up their space for day, I stop in silence to watch the fishing boat pull slow across the sea. And old, half forgotten and half drowned dreams resurface, tugging my memory, begging for life and I'm dazzled by the speed and strength of their recovery. I'm haunted by her face and words I never got to whisper but now I realise the clouds are getting dark and the chill is getting crisper. All the while I stand on the bay in the rain, restlessly waiting for the boat to sail again. One persistent thought bobs up once more and carries through my mind as driftwood carries to the shore: wouldn't it be quite good if a big sea monster ate all them boats up?
There, much clearer isn't it?
So that children, is why monsters are so good. I look at my own personal demons, balloons and the opening 10 minutes of that film and I wouldn't be without those fears, not for a minute. Actually thinking about it, of course I'd prefer to live without them, who wants to be terrified of telly and parties? It's stupid.