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Sunday 17th June2018.

Today..is in England a dead good dad's dad's day an excuse to drink more bubbles than normal and be excused from washing the pots there is also the mass of repeat, repeat football in the World Cup both of which have left me standing in the shadows they say life is a bitch i prefer Bill Brysons..Words in one of his first Books..." life is a bucket of shit and here's yours " if ever i have been knee high to a grass hopper in some hell hole those words have slipped into my head battering the gap between my ears with giggles...to ride the storm out.
Yesterday i tripped into town fought with the swamping crowds this crowd stuff is going to take a good while before i can become calm enough to sway with the crowds, i think i have worked and lived for so long in small company which means a sort of strangling fills my head with nonsense. travelling away from home seems quite different which is another lucky bag story...however it was worth splashing about in Manchester Rain...catching rainbows blowing bubbles as each street bend was taken...sadly my camera did'nt quite feel up to it and decided to slip off to recharge battery mode world, stinker..!!....and for once i kept away from the stockings shops and instead dribbled over all the music and books that were so out of reach for my pocket as a youth...CD's have now become bubble gum prices giving that feeling of the small school boy glee which i can still just about recall..Must be a sign of old age all this glee of when i was a lad....as long as i do not end up in a nursing home pissing in the corn flakes....So Goeth.

Tuesday 11th June 2018.

Tis but a Tuesday...sunshine pushes through the rooms window i sit at this machine half awake half an eye on the ticking clock i begin to think of the future outside wearing my old blue uniform...the Saturday that has just passed was the last time i pulled it on over my wrinkled stockings and rode down the lanes over the hills in the company of the new postman whom has inherited my old trusty van..when i simply opened the door and stepped out for the very last time..i felt nothing but a huge sigh of relief..modern Tecno and other ridges of misbelief being drafted in, the spy in the cab,a delivery track when one feels as if ghost busters are constantly over your shoulder and every second is monitered into a trillion computors has made the modern postman dance with a thousand ants every second of the day there is becoming a time when a a quick smile a few words with the old customers and after all these years there is only one old dear whom writes hand written letters left on my delivery all this is going to be a thing of the past, such new words as data capture and therefore and therefore...tis not for myself anymore being a bit of the old twisted 60's child, locked beneath this word called transvestite, again simply thoughts of the word Bollocks seeps into the corners of my soul...So Goeth.

Friday 8th June 2018.

This blank white screen stares at me i stare back and we both sigh in unison blow kisses and begin to sink into the depths of this particular Friday whether we will meet in unison is another matter, as this past week has been full of bad spelling in the long tall grass slipped in by spring winds coming over the hill screaming blue murder, pink elelphants are quiet perhaps they to have lost their friday feeling to, i gaze into the distance to try and catch a glimpse of the Last Samurai only to see dust and foot prints which really i expected as had i caught his shadow i would have been quite shocked.
This past Wednesday i sat inside The Red Bull....pub as a final goodbye to old Trade Union comrades as i retire from even that part of my life a mere handfull were seated all around age comes in rushes for those whom are left holding the rope of hope, all the old stories came out vast quantities of foaming mirth poured into glasses it was a time for myself as the constant chatter filled the room, of reflection on all the marches in protest to the Tory Party i have tramped my boots across and factory shut outs forever where only bulldozers inherit as old spiders live in the rotten brick work they to dream of vast webs before the Tecno age of the super web...will the new youth wake up before they are entrenched in the work house until the age of 90 when the only thing they will smell is the flowers on coffins should i be so melancholy on a friday perhaps...as the rush of rubber tyres build into the rush hour out side this window of the world, best to, is to avoid the media at this time, the summer madness is people on scooters robbing us all in the streets if one drank in all the media hype the wolrd is in the shape of a pear and god has gone home...
Which just leaves him here whom needs no name and will be talked about for many years to come in with the famous ones in the bucket with Hitler and thatcher and co...when are we going to hear of him whom walked on water rather than ever watching for the forlorn raindrop... this particular picture i picked up from a fancy dress shop In down town Manchester of all the party clothes would you buy this...!!!!...So Goeth and Good Blessings for the weekend ahead to all...x

Sunday 3rd June 2018.

"....Reminder that Winnie The Pooh wore a crop top with no panties and ate his fave food and loved himself and you can too..." afraid these are not my words but they made me giggle in the opening hours of this Trinity Sunday Morning, nor have i glanced at today's weather forecast all i know is that dawn has broken and it is Sunday morning because the rubber tyres roaring on tarmac out side this rooms window are slight which means people whom roam in such things along the highway are either stoned or touching something other than my old friend Winnie The Pooh.
Today i am going into town on public transport...God help me from standing on spent chewing gum or the rattle of a empty Tinnie rolling around the carriage looking for its drunken master, prey no young girls are on talking into their mobile phones discussing their sex lives in loud moaning tones as if us grey haired bumps never did such back in the blur of being 18..during the 1970's when the name Trump perhaps was a fart on the back seat of one of those big american cars or Tin Cans as us village people in England used to call them in the swinging 60's...Town today will be a small celebration as yesterday after 36 years 7 months 21 days i have decided to join the grey matter band of roaming idiots whom froth at the mouth and still queue at post offices and shout through the glass as if still watching the moon landing back in 1969, by handing in my notice at work...i will no longer be driving a tiny red van..i will of coarse miss certain aspects of my work but will not miss those whom deam Postmen to be Goblins from Middle earth...
Will i treat my old friend Winnie The Pooh..to some of Alice in wonderland red panties to match his top for those cold winter nights whilst he is throwing Poo sticks into the river of life or simply wear them myself...For all those whom Pass this way Take care...may Winnie The Pooh always be with you...So Goeth...x

Friday 1st June 2018

Gosh June already how the year is flying old age does not put on the brakes time waits for no man and all cabbages are green only the Goblins whom play games through my mind in the dark hours to the tune of Famous Blue Raincoat win at all costs their pink laced hob nailed boots take some beating after all these years i thought they might find another punch bag..but would i miss them drat....
I am slowly removing all the clutter from the hoardings i have picked up for the last 36 years working on the post i can at least see the floor only in some parts, however tis but a start and i feel more at peace within myself as i face the ruhbarb of the world. Today i am out amongst the human hord it is taking some getting used too there are days when i think wow and others i think dear God beam me up Scottie...The weekend for me starts now as i close this here machine all those whom pass this way have a good one..time to pull on my wrinkled stockings and fly....So Goeth.

Tuesday 29th May 2018.

If i had money to toss into the air and  blow kisses to it as it drifted down on this spring day...i would not put it on a nag..in horse racing circles but simply bet that Trump will not be impeached nor England ever pull away from the European Union...Had i woke up on that morning and found the European vote had made England stay in Europe...i would not be weeping in my beer, or chuddering in public to anyone whom would stop to amble on about my woes...I would have simply accepted that Europe is going to take the piss out of us for ever...and not be bleating like a lost sheep. There is no point ever wasting time to step inside a polling booth and putting my cross on any voting paper simply because its all bollocks democracy has been lost in the wind...not even a spiders fart could climb up a wall to thus change back time...Life is but a gas and Alice in Wonderland will always be there...So Goeth...

Wednesday 23rd May 2018.

The sun begins to set on this day, the last rays jag through the trees lining the garden, i sit dream, froth and calmly adjust my wrinkled stockings..i have walked under the sunshine for more consecutive days than i can remember for a good while, such makes one almost skip and sing silly songs along this life's rocky road.
I took this on my way home around lunch time, as i travelled to this room of dreams where escape is not an issue where Goblins poke out tongues between gaps in the wall paper.This shot lies between two villages but the amazing adjective is the pin pricks in the far distance is the City Of Manchester....I stood and watched the gentle breeze push about the wild flowers on this meadow, i even did that childish thing and plucked up a dandilion clock head and blew counting the time as the seeds tossed themselves in the gentle breeze. I have not walked this way for an age, simply because the work ethic has sunk my soul to the dark whispers of the work horse...as the crow flies Manchester is about six miles away a city of contrast where people but bumper stickers on cars saying  "I Love Manchester " then pull up on the next bend and release a well worn junk hoarded basket full of rubbish around the next bend just to prove they love this City...but let me not linger on such bumper stickers and simply say the view was worth standing and staring for a few moments before the modern world dragged me ever nearer to reality. So Goeth.

Sunday 20th May 2018.

Sunday eve darkness fills up this room...a busker from Lisbon plays on the turntable the past week weekend has been so hectic i am glad to see the passing into dusty history books folded under chairs and tables rubber bands with labels in crimson. And so you think you can tell heaven from hell....as the world becomes besotted with the word Trump in my early youth the word trump meant the passing of wind..at least the Royal wedding made some folks happy in the weekend sunshine, so unusual for this Manchester Basin to be blessed with such fine weather and thank goodness to, after such a gripping winter.
Lets hope the summer is a long and winding road of strawberries and other such wonders perhaps it might be to hot for wrinkled stockings..So Goeth...have a good week all whom pass this way...x

Monday 14th May 2018.

Sunshine begins the morn..rubber tyres on tarmac in a rush heralds the new working week for those that still perform...i shall retreat to the garden and potter about i need a rest from a couple of black dog days which advancing age brings it is not all gas and gaters, as i pulled on my wrinkled stockings this morning i thought lets have a good day or at least two on the bounce...as the weekend end was filled with joy and sod it Saturday called with a train ride to London a march with thousands protesting over the Tory Govt some thing which i think half my life has been cemented to..i even heard that dreadful word Thatcher uttered on the March...i admired those speakers at the end of the rally in Hyde Park stilling pouring out words which fell on a few ears in the rain and mostly soaked up by the new green leaves on the trees around Hyde Park as the rest of London got on with the day probably used to all this retoric that sadly gets the working classes...no further than their cross in the ballot box...As i wrapped up my small union banner stood in the poring rain turning from the make shift stage and simply watching the crowd my most visual rememberance memory will be of a lady sat on a fold up chair picnic basket out having lunch in the pouring rain..Only..Only in England would you find that...thankfully some parts of England has not changed no matter what happens in politics or how many peoples from abroad swamp this green land old ladies will always picnic...in the rain.
Back to Euston Train Station via the famous Oxford Road dripping with shops in bright lights some wonderful dresses one could dream off pulling over wrinkled stockings but i was in company that perhaps the word transvestite might shock them whilst eating their chocolate bars i could not doddle sigh or simply point at the glass it was a case of drink in and smile inwards..however at least i had a good day away from this town in the Manchester Basin that is simply alive with everything to do with road humps traffic wardens rather than plant a summer of love...So Goeth...x

Sunday 6th May 2018.

The white screen before me reaches out to give me a kiss..wow...i can only think that the mini heat wave that has hit the Manchester basin has cooked this machine into a soft humble jelly which for once makes me smile. I know this machine and myself go back along way a sort of companion along lifes rocky road, a refuge from the constant blight out side this rooms window where one can scribble words read into other lives go wow or sigh as they to walk the same rocky road.
I am almost now to the time when i can sit on at least one mountain top and just might catch a glimpse of the Last Samurai as my blue uniform is neatly almost bagged up for the final finish the official secrets act signed and that will be the moment that i will no longer trawl the streets pushing letters through post boxes..will i miss such a task...for the past couple of weeks such thoughts have been rolling around my head bumping into crazy ideas which have been lurking inside my mind for some time now...Today's postal service is for the younger generation whom wear face book in a miners helmet and cough drops in their pockets to work through the day in mindless road traffic and a management whom do not understand the word No....or even accept such...
Perhaps i will simply sit in the garden in my wrinkled stockings raise a glass of chardonnay sigh mull over the last 36 years of beef and bash, how each twist in the road well at least the ones i can recall have moved to this humble Transvestite i have grown into...Today is my Trinity Sunday...So Goeth...