Thursday 17th September 2020.

It has been a strange week, i have found myself climbing over giant mushrooms and floating down stream in a solitude of thoughts as summer begins to be clawed away by the hind leg of the devils donkey begins to kick and trample the last few scraps of Summer, the word we once used with free will " Indian Summer " for this time of year, can only be now whispered in the corner of old crones panties. Freedom of Speech has passed into history along with old public houses that once sold fine beer, Libraries too have been scolded boarded up or made into childrens play school for half the books within have no place for the politics of this green land due to certain lamblastic words this Summer. Quite why i had these morbid thoughts whilst tripping around the Manchester Basin today in my tiny red van as i passed the boared up pubs and bright sunshine,usually the sites do not really register so vividly, perhaps the noon pile-up on the motorway or the conversation i had in a second hand record store...which remains open these days as the man said this morning just simply for a laugh and to pass the time of day on Thurs/Fri/Sat.. with the odd balls such as i whom still buy CD'S...four for ten quid how could i refuse plus the gift of one free for the man was not to sure if one was scratched or not...i suspect such things as spotify had fucked up the collectors market on used records from the way he was talking that most 45's...videos...cassettes...are now worthless compared to when he opened his shop thirty years ago... as i paid for my goods..i left with a heavy sigh.
Perhaps to i can sense the shadow of melancholy madness waiting for winters bite to play ball games inside my head, i can only smile knowing this will be my last full winter in a tiny red van and so far no one group can quite take away the freedom of ones minds thoughts quite yet.
On a brighter note someone sent me a small note today saying that the childrens programme Postman Pat.. was first aired today on the 1981..the summer of 1981 was the first year of myself climbing into a tiny red van...

Toall whom pass this way love and peace..have a good weekend ahead and take care..x

Sunday 13th September 2020.

Where have all the flowers gone..a song that seems quite apt for today cascaded from my I-Pod..The Manchester Basin was riddled with sunshine a touch of an Indain summer with a temp over 70F...Yet i stood on a loading bay wheeling postal mail here and there...but hey life is and thank goodness for bubbles...To all whom pass this way love and peace take care and have a good week ahead...x

Wednesday 9th September 2020.

A blip on this here machine since the end of August, has meant i have had to rumage down the rabbit hole to sort out the minor problem of my Mouse whispering to me Sod Off...must have been waxing on the nostalgia over the 1970 Isle of White Pop Festival....I just have to figure how to work the bloody bugger, it was hard enough trying to take the wrapper off this evening when it arrived by snail mail.. the darn thing fought like fuck to stay within the plastic wrapper oh for simple things in cardboard boxes and ribbons. Therefore plenty of catching up to do on my friends page and what ever is normal to me will take a few days to respond too.......To all whom pass this way Love and peace Take care.x

Bank Holiday Monday 31st August 2020.

Bank Holiday Mondays always feel as if Sunday has come twice in one week....the August one simply means Summer is over. Sometimes we look forward to an Indian Summer in September sometimes we are shocked and one the Manchester Basin...However there are words out in public now saying due to the naughty boys of the  British Empire we can no longer say Indian it is a slur against those whom have flocked to these islands..whom are shocked that there is no summer at all, and the national dish is boiled cabbage and have taken the cricket bat to our ways with a gusto.. At this moment in time there is a war against the BBC....whether because of the cost every house hold pays towards the upkeep dispite Sky, Netflicks, costs...or whatever fish one fries... or the fact England beat Pakistan in the cricket this summer is debateable..The Tory Party hate the BBC as much as the working class hate Thatcher....I in my own thoughts think the BBC will die within Five years or sooner, and anyone mentioning the British Empire will have to put a star on their collar and possibly the world knows what happened then.
Today is the last day of the Remberance of the 1970 Isle Of White Pop Festival...600.000 attended..Tiny Tim sang There Always Be An England...Sadly i do not think my own small way i have tried to celebrate the event this weekend as at the time i was simply 14 years old, the world, the future, looked bright now simply today it looks like a bucket of shit, once mentioned in a book by Bill Bryson some good few years ago perhaps i read the book,when i was simply 14...and is possibly banned now for writing the word English.
Before i drift into melancholy all whom pass this and peace...take care...xx  

Wednesday 26th August 2020.

Today 50 years ago..was the opening day of the 1970..Isle Of White Pop festival...I was 14....I was not there, but at school within sight of the Isle Of White depending which way the wind blew...never the has affected my soul even to this day and i simply wanted to note today this important event in English History for some of us at least.
AS we approach the weekend love and peace to all whom pass this way and take care...x

Saturday 22nd August 2020.

Do i say greetings to this big white screen before i admit to a glass or two of South African white wine do bubbles flow and how today is the Lemon Drop the madness of all this wind blowin in the world. Donavan sings Josie...on I-tunes..and i float back to the sixties. Harmony is a wee bugger.. so too melancholy madness so easy to scribble the words and feel a shrug on the shoulder as i fill up this loud screen before me..i thought love was only true in fairy that time i was madly in love with the girl next door... was i a beliver or was that fairy tales lost on the wind did the Monkees appear on my black and white Tv Batman was barred from vison as American rubbish so my father told me way back in 1965ish..........scatterd on autumn leaves....and Where Have All The Flowers Gone..Peter Paul & England celebrates 150 years of the British Red Cross..Or..Our love Will Grow from the Showmen..a touch of Northen Soul...pulsates across this here machine and the feeling of hope grows across the mind...bouncing across these four walls which hide this ere machine from the world..Arrrhh...Blodwyn Pig..
The Modern Alchemist....if you have read this far and never heard of Blodwyn Pig....spare a few seconds to drift through the vibe...passed down to me by a senior at school back in my boarding school days of 1969-72...Adversity is the first path to scribbled Lord Byron...i wonder if the word Transvestite was loud and proud in his times....
To all whom pass this way on this saturday and peace take care..xx

Sunday 16th August2020. Eventide....

It is rare for myself to tempt myself to cruise across this vast ocean of empty space twice in one any form of words, perhaps because the day is almost over and i have one more sip of fine South African white wine left in the glass besides this here machine to the world.....and perhaps the turntable is playing..Do The the spirit of 1969 during the rise of the Skin Head and the Doc Martin Boots....a double CD..i picked up this past week...Perhaps there is only one small slip of wine the Pioneers sing Better Herring... i was no skinhead...even in 1969..the fem inside me was beginning to reject such things as the skinhead moon stomp and the brash furious outlook on life skinheads were portrayed to have by the frightened Press whom hated any advance of the working class rising above their station...I was growing in favour of the soft touch of nylon red Panties, yet quite why the music drifted into my head and has remained to this day is something to dwell on with a Glass in hand...there are no answers, as i take the last sip of wine...however long i dwell on such a subject, I am simply whom i am, having drifted down amongst one of the forks in the woods of a Robert Frost poem...i wonder if he liked Reggae music...
And tonight i want to finish the weekend with a touch of lipstick and the sounds of Sam Lee singing..Lovely Molly quite what he thinks of Transvestites is unknown but hey life in the fast simply an bucket of fond memories which push life along in the thoughs of clogs and shawls... within a Tip Toe Through The Tulips sung by Tiny the far distance playing across the horizon,Tomorrow is 51 years since Woodstock.
To All whom pass this way love and peace take care...xx

Sunday 16th August2020.

There are times when i wonder why; The crazy week in my blue uniform and tiny red van did not stop when i handed in my keys on Friday night with a heavy sigh and relief. Expect the unexpected they say, pick a pocket or two, dust off the crazy working weeks dust.

Blow a few Dandeloin clocks on the way to Nottingham and so i did, but that was last week in a feast of a weekend, i have simply not had the time to pause here and plop a few pictures taken last weekend, but today seems right enough to pause for thought and ask ones self indeed Why...Perhaps one should not drift back into childhood with glee to often or the crazy work dust will blow it's own kisses....
Last weekend was Wollaton Hall with that childish glee in full swing a small fair was on the grounds however the IT-Flu...was made clear to my childish mind only to stand and stare this year smile laugh with hope that the IT-Flu is somewhere in the clouds above year.
I did so want to ride this and perhaps it is some sort of twisted fate for poking out my tongue as the ride went around without me the stamping of the childish feet as the music blared the sun shone. That yesterday was a cannon ball of cloud and drat in large letters...

I did manage to arrive at the ice cream van and how strange to stand there as the crew were masked up a plastic sheet covering...with a small hole just big enough to slip out an ice cream cone such a strange summer indeed....However such was last weekend in a rich sunshine weekend...that one could skip too...and be thankful one cannot see to far what the future holds...
And thus this was yesterday...i did manage to reach Nottingham...i did manage to pick up returning family and on the way to a picinic lunch in Wollaton Hall...This tiny Mini..thought bollocks..perhaps it had heard whispers that after 14 years it was time to think on some newer wheels perhaps it was to attached to the family and really did not want to end.....its life in below... surroundings, perhaps i should not have taken the picture below on Friday afternoon of this

Resting place for tired old cars with gates tightly pad locked and by the looks of mother nature trying to reclaim land that once was hers and as i took this picture through it did not look as if anyone had walked in here for years.Thankfully i have always had breakdown cover for anywhere in the country...and two super lads helped me get the old girl home and thankgoodness i had...some white wine in the fridge and what will tomorrow bring is unknown and best left there....

To all whom pass this way love and peace take care..xx

Saturday 15th August 2020.

Thankfully tis but weekend, the week in my tiny red van was one big bugger of a fart however i made it through the week with at least a smile still within me, when i handed in my van keys late last night whispering thank God for fridays to i slipped out of the door.
Today once more i venture forth to Nottingham in a few hours hopefully i will catch a glimpse of Robin Hood and stick up two fingers to if i should pass by the sheriff of Nottingham, once more i am playing the Johnny taximan, picking up family returning to Manchester there will be lunch in the park which is a comfort not quite the scorcher of last weekend but hey England is England...
Love and peace to all whom pass this way take care.x

Wednesday 12th August 2020.

Two days in my tiny red van in temps of over the Manchester Basin means i am sat here naked not quite a pretty sight at the age of 64...i think each year the spider veins grow up my legs in bunches of flowers... but hey age is age and as long as no bunch of flowers grow upon my mind which is still locked around 18 years old..for some strange reason.
I will not grumble about the heat as i prefer this to a Manchester Winter and these few days will indeed be the glory of a Manchester Summer if we had this for two weeks it would be a shock and the city would run out of beer and ice cream no doubt...and we cannot have such a thud across the pavements....thats if there is room amongst the new wave garbage on each street corner...plastic gloves and face masks...sometimes you do wonder why people put i love manchester stickers on their close for the night before the bitch begins to rant more...Love and Peace to all whom pass this way...take care...xx