Sin... The Swing and the Roundabout Went to Sea...

Swings and roundabouts.

They make me feel sick. Well, they do. Put me on a rollercoaster that drags you up to the stratosphere before letting go so you can drop like a stone back down to earth, just being caught by the loop-de-loop before you can smash into the ground. Swing me this way and that, bouncing like Steve McQueen’s solitary baseball, and I'm fine.

Put me on a roundabout and I'll be fully prepared to vomit. I don't do roundandround. I've come off a rollercoaster and not been able to walk in a straight line due to my body still thinking there's one more turn to fly into. But a roundabout makes my head spin and my stomach follow suit.

And if the roundabout is the jacket to that suit, the swing is the trousers and matching waistcoat.

Back and forth, back and forth. I'm not a pendulum, you know. I'm not a pocket watch to hypnotise the masses. My body is not tested, to my knowledge, to withstand g-force and impact like a hard drive is.

I'm just me.

Look, forget about the strains a rollercoaster puts on your body, ok? I never said I was consistent.

Swings and roundabouts. Back and forth and round and round. I'm almost moving my body to the way of the words as I say them. Catch you on the rebound, as Luck would say, when she's not (well, she is a Lady) off picking Lottery numbers. What you don't gain on the roundabout, you get back on the swing.

Yeah sure.

So, if I have bad luck one day, eventually I'll have good luck another? Oh, really?

See a penny, pick it up and all day long you'll have good luck. See two pence and... you end up in an asylum, haunted by the cries of the people who are dead because of you.

I almost said 'that you'd killed' - but I didn't. I know what I've done, though I don't know how. I'm, at least, pleased we don't have pockets in here. Nowhere for a sly two pence piece to hide.

But, hey-ho-daddy-o, it's off to Purgatory I go.

Swings swing and roundabouts go around. It is what it says on the tin. A bit like me. Name's Sin, remember? Sin-sin-siree, there's no luck for thee, as my dear old dad might have said.

He didn't, but he might have. Substitute 'luck' for 'place' and you're getting hotter.

You might think I'm often on what you could call 'a downer', but I'm not, not really. But if you spend so much time with nothing to contemplate other than your navel, you're bound to feel blue and... fluffy. Usually I'm one of the more upbeat people in here. I keep the peace and the pieces. Fixing the fragments of fragility. Everyone is allowed an off day, but I don't think this is mine.

I'm not down, I'm just chatting. Chewing the cloth. Unfortunately it's wool so it gets to my teeth.

So. Swings and roundabouts - they make me feel sick. But at least the bucket I throw up into would be half full.