The knowledge that somewhere there is probably a cat in a Wellington.
My Cello dearest.
Oxygen (haha...ha...alright, fuck you! :D) and water (hoho...ho...chortle...chor...nothing wrong with a bit of obtuse humour, is there? Nothing like a good laugh to rid the nostrils of the ever present scent of decay and desperation that we call this shameful ballet of life, each morbid step closer to the grave being only that sickening reminder more of how infinitely far left there is to go...so..um...piss off :D ), not to mention food.....and cats in Wellingtons ^>^
Love (queer, mayhaps, but you try and deny it :D )
The ability to count.