After all this time has our cherished hero not come to terms with life’s fluctuating fortunes? Alas no, for something is squeezing his beautifully prepared skull; and Stephen Patrick’s issues are not merely trifles; here it seems that modern life contains no hope, love or true friends, and with chemical correction strictly out of the question there seems to be little help available for the man whose songs saved so many, though the odd incident in a taxi does offer some questionable hope. Once again; no hope, no harm, just another false alarm.
