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Sunday 19th February 2017.

Coco-Cola...half a can sits before me...this big white screen is mocking me...blank as perhaps the blankness i feel this Sunday mid-morning, outside this rooms window the rush of rubber tyres onward is increasing as too the day...i have so much in my wish list to complete on this free day that i simply stare and think perhaps next Sunday as the hoard of dust bunnies scamper about poke out tongues from behind piles of books on the floor play hide and seek between dresses hanging on the rail....Work was one of those weeks which is perhaps why half a can of coke sits here hissing bubbles.
I am not melancholy...simply slow motion tired...from the grind of urban living, working, what ever new word sums up the kimono crazyness of it all..thankfully there are moments when driving my tiny red van is a delight...worthwhile and the word hope trundles by also.The Queen..sends out personal cards to those whom reach 100 years old and those whom reach 60 years of bliss....sssshhh...i will whisper that together..in all my 35 years driving this tiny red van last Thursday was only the second one i have hand delivered....the old man was waiting as i drove into the yard....please knock on the door rather than leave the post in the usual place the old gery haired lady in black glasses answered the door it was quite emotional...i even felt myself being caught up in this single emotion on a bleak mid winters day...i left the couple to open the Queens message passing out through the yard thinking gosh where was i in 1957...was the world a better place..no face book..television actually turned off for the night closing with the national anthem..Could one buy Coco-Cola in England at that time..and batman was no where in sight though i expect Elephants could be seen walking down the high street...
The Coco-Cola can is empty time i think to perform something on my wish list...Take care all...So Goeth...

Sunday 12th February 2017.

The weekend has slipped from my grasp once more..the hours have tickled,slapped, oral orgied amongst a field of thoughts rampant as a troglodytes wedding, i can say the free hours from working my tiny red van have been used to slip inside a chardonnay bottle..sing loudly whilst washing after dinner plates during the midnight hour to the tune of Galleries of Pink Galahs...by Mr Australia...John Williamson...the simple small stuff cooks the mind into a peaceful Saturday night, blows the harrows of the working week into the dust bowls of history.
A phone call this morning caused a heavy sigh as i pulled on my wrinkled stockings, pulled off the covers off my tiny red van to roar amongst the crazy streets of Manchester a rainbow of brickwork, traffic bugged roads with everyman and his dog doing the traffic can-can with no sight of any pink elephants around the bend...all this in deep midwinter with ant egg sized snow flakes trying like fook to land on planet earth, it was as if the gods had constipation in barnacled porcelain...however i made it through the whole nine yards with half a smile which left me some time to capture some of the bugs in this small room to form some sort of order where i can at least see the back wall..the clutter within is simply spiffy from a serious biscuit collector like myself with the most famous saying of all time there is always tomorrow.So Goeth...

Tuesday 7th February 2017.

Snow drops have already pushed up through the leaf mould, hang their heads in relief that they have joined the world above ground for another year even though it is such a short time they are most welcome..the bright whiteness is stark amongst the sleeping hedgerows and trees where cast off litter spun from car windows dies in depths of awkward misery...yellow arrow heads of the crazy Welsh Daffodil in some places are fit to burst into flower is it a race against time, is spring really that early, surely Uncle Ben snow drifts are some where camped across the horizon...
Winter in this neck of the woods is hard to spit on without it snapping back and bite yer Bum....Sigh...
There was a tinge of sunshine this afternoon which always makes my soul sing out with a gasp of relief....making the road traffic more bareable encased in my tiny red van, it did not last as traffic early evening lurched in unison to the gasp of giant Elephants walking down the highway as the sun dipped behind the high rise...some one asked when am i going to retire from this red saddle, soon is the thought inside my head, alot of rammbling, talking, a touch of frost, a touch of scare as i enter the last quarter of my life is there a touch of the whole nine yards still beneath my feet..a young lady i work with asked if i wanted her to read out the news on her mobile phone this evening, i declined the offer had she wanted to talk about Chocolate Snowmen then perhaps...After all am i not the captain of my ship....So Goeth...

Sunday 5th February 2017.

Tis but the first weekend of February...my companions this early hour are as always the ticking clocks they are not in unison the sound climbs up the walls drips down from the ceiling...they are a comfort from the mad world where at this time the word Trump..is every breath i take the only places i have not seen that name are on toilet roll and Beer cans..but it will come...it will be a name long after he has gone probably sitting comfortable next to Thatcher....a word long dead but effects are daily lives from the grave...i have promised myself that after this morning i will try and think that word as simply as a word not to put any meaning behind it letting it flow down the river of life stand on the bridge with my old friend Winnie-The-Poo..to throw poo sticks into the turbulant waters.... and whisper God Help Us.....
Yesterday was the birthday of a girl i once loved to bits..as i stood in the evening amongst people celebrating a 50th birthday...having drawn the short straw to drive for the evening sober was the name of the game...strange thoughts cloud through the mind whilst stood at parties as the Beer flows before you...one i simply wanted to go home as the beat from the music turned from the sixties..to the up and coming rap rap....as sometimes the worst place to be is inside your own head in these rooms of heaving people....as these evenings grow into gay abandon thankfully i left before the orgy of beer became a river and strange dances snaked across the small dance floor...on the plus side it was good in this mad world to see the 50th Lady becoming less stressed over enough food on the table and is there enough enough antics for the kids flying around the room to be occupied with. I left behind all the people i did not know and that was the whole room....I also left the other birthday girl of loved to bits in the bottom of the Coco-Cola glass she really did not like transvestites and perhaps i did not like spam anymore...So Goeth...

Wednesday 1st February 2017.

I no longer have to scribble the word January for another year...it seems to be a month along with wrinkled stockings that i hear constant greetings of the Grim Reaper from people whom pass me by, they mention it as if buying a pair of socks.. adding so and so.... as they tell you the colour of such socks,i remember hearing little old ladies full of such chatter on the buses my youth carried me through, now here i am at that age myself my youth gone and i can no longer discard such utterings as nothing but hairy catterpillars on the march for toasted toadstools i once used to by day dreaming as the world passed beyond my bus seat window pushing the little old ladies words to the bottom of cornflake packets left on the bus seat...
Now i think Wow...not much time left for me to ride the bucket to utopia....better find some wooden spoons to spank the monkey, shy away from those whom love to dwell as living dolls in the obituary columns found in daily papers...
One such paper this morning shouted out loud in stark headlines that another Thatcher era is to begin...with a heavy sigh i bid the world a good night Take care all and hope the words are just good enough to wrap fish and chips in....So Goeth...

Wednesday 25th January 2017.

My working day has just finished...i sit here in uniform plus wrinkled stockings..the big blank screen before me scares me, should i turn off or simply believe Elephants are a miricle and if i catch sight of a pink one then life indeed is rich beyond the coal seam under this humble dwelling,darkness has fallen the swish of rubber tyres beyond this window Hum...in gentle strobes...
Last nights Euro lotttery of 70..odd..million was won in Ireland..i sigh with a relief that it was indeed won...which means day dreaming will be spent on other things and the coins in my pocket will remain for now...i cannot remember if i forgot to buy a ticket or could not be bothered...i am in a group one within the office even that did not drop one penny...a conversation about such winnings this evening was about what would one do...a mention of ten Bently's lined up outside one house made me smile...my self i smiled inwardly and thought a nice small island where perhaps i could roam naked in the surf and no one would be bothered if my stockings were laddered when standing on the head land...It is nice to dream of winning the biggie..however reality is better to forget such dreams amongst the bread crumbs...
With the promise of a new day only hours away with possibly cold sunshine across the land time to think of the pillow. And i shall leave this simple picture of a road i pass through each working day...There are no Elephants nor cherries to be had....and the gloom makes me think of the travels i have pondered through..yet home soil can draw me even in the deep mid winter when i spite feathers with heeped moans and growns as my tiny red van trundles up and down this road...and after all life is...




So Goeth...Luv and Peace to all whom pass this way...

Monday 23rd January 2017.

He who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose....i wonder on this gloomy winters day what window Anne Bronte was looking through to pick such words all those years ago when winters were perhaps much sharper, certainly there would be no Elephants walking down the highway at the time...i wonder myself this evening why the word Elephant has lodged in my mind, when endless streams of woozy words have vanished to hide behind the wall paper of this room.
Perhaps because the fact this is the last full week of January, a yippie is needed as winter has begun to fiddle under my finger nails, the sun is a mere ghost and the weekend has simply stole away the whole nine yards....Chinese new year is on the cusp with a year of the Cock the mind boggles in many directions some in flesh, others on a plate with chinese crackers festering amongst a gulag of troglodytes playing second fiddle to old King Canute still sat on the shoreline, whom by now perhaps thinks WTF after how many centuries....as my mind thinks more of the pillow at this hour of the day rather than the thorns on a rose......so goeth..

Thursday 19th January 2017.

Will the known world end tomorrow from the mouth of one man....Perhaps....Will Elephants still walk the streets of some cities of the world..King Canute sit on his throne and push back the tide...Will Winnie The Poo..at last empty his honey pot.....and will i still be the same as i am, to sit here and toss about the keys to play tigger with the words across this blank screen....
Some fly posters on the walls in the city of Manchester...read....This Will All Pass.....in large black letters i am sure on a bed of red flowers...perhaps something to do with..some sort of art whether music or whatever...As i glimpse the poster in my tiny red van i cannot but think of the man with a large pair of dice..what he will roll only the three fates will know....at this moment....Keep Calm America..the world needs you all with sanity upper most....Good Night...Hugs to you all...

Tuesday 17th January 2017.

I did write a scribble for this blank screen in my head this morning whilst on auto pilot driving my tiny red van...something to do with the crows sitting high on branches strutted on sleeping rain soaked trees. The gloom of the morning made their haunting call come from the pages of Macbeth....it was the Shakespere play i trawled through during school days the images still can be felt when i linger in my own thoughts witches and wrinkled stockings link the parts the curly finger, of dominant crones the other, i recall those small moments of joy in my innocence of that time, perhaps a dark lipstick clatters through the shutters as i move my thoughts through the crazy streets of my mind each corner a pandora's box of magic.... Puff The Magic Dragon a tune from the sixties which i have not heard for some years comes to me now as i scribble across these keys after a gloom ridden forlorn day on the waether front... just the thought reminds me of youthful masturbation and chocolate biscuits...before the days of shame stetched out from the shadows...of being a teenager in love with perhaps myself...
Today i had a few moments of down time, early evening whilst waiting for Red Pillar boxes to click through time until a hand held scanner is proof the box has been emptied on time, there was once long ago the word trust but sadly that has now vannished along with the words public srevice..the very words the Tories hate.....now where was i yes down time..i love to trawl through charity shops linger over the books feel the lost ghosts in cast off female clothes...a pair of red house slippers quite quaint were sadly to small for me a mere size five...could i have squeezed my size six in perhaps...however time was bitten....and i settled for a couple of books with the offer buy one get one free i clouted out the coppers in my pocket at least something for a good cause...... The heavy sigh from the female inside me might make me go back..however tonight is over and the pillow calls for this old panto dame...So Goeth...Love and peace to all whom pass this way...

Tuesday 10th January2017.

I did not see any Elephants on the streets today..i am not sure either if the sun took it's hat off..the Rooks in the tree line surrounding the church played merry hell as darkness began to close in on the day....as they squabbled for a perch, the traffic below simply ignored them...i have been invited to a 40th birthday..i will not wear a suit...neither a dress, i shall go out of respect in the hope should i ever have a party at least more than the Barman and Road Sweeper will turn up...January weather is hitting me hard, but at least i have not joined the Forlorn Hope Regiment in melancholy madness, the song they are singing this winter is an octave above this old voice so i only hum.....which adds one more notch on the belt buckle.....
The singer of where are you going my lovely has passed away a big hit in 1969...a summer i quite recall even January was a haunting of drizzle running down red bricks....i was indeed sent away to school...i wonder if that has anything to do with the dress i saw in the charity shop window perhaps..but i read somewhere long ago no regrets....which leaves simply So Goeth...and Good night All...