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Last night I posted (as a page at the top of the website) a set of wistfuls which kind of came out of yesterday's post about the film about the poem.

They aren't technically wistfuls. In the cold dark of the morning night, they look very much like goals and goals, as you know, are very different to wistfuls.

wistfuls are wanting to make love to Sigourney Weaver whilst sailing a space balloon to the moons of Jupiter. wistfuls are lying back on the sand of a beach and wishing you could soar amongst the clouds on the back of a dragon. wistfuls are wishes and whimsies and what-ifs and are never, ever capitalised. They sit on the cusp of the impossible, dance between the fantastical and the mundane. They are day-dreams and idle-wonderings. They are the place your mind goes when it forgets what it is supposed to be doing.

So the wistfuls list is going to change. It is going to be properly, impossibly, unreservedly wistful. As it should be.

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