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Monday 8th April 2013.

Huge sheets of glass, bright lights,pokey pantry's, lit up star bright with delightful Dragon Ladies selling anything from tiny colourful patterned panties to woolen Bobble hats,Juice stalls with concoctions befitting The mad hatters tea party table and beyond guide one inside. Today i went to Bugis Street once famous for British National servicemen straight from their mothers apron to find out, if what they thought was behind the school bike shed really was. Old soldiers would warn feel the top of the leg son, just to make sure you know what your spending your ten bob on, sometimes you cannot tell, so good were the girlies of the era....
Such girlies have now sadly, vanished, leaving the area to a glass shopping malls with fingers running off fringed with market stalls..the smell of local cooking marries with the smell of freshly un-boxed new stock..tis but a toxic smell with the heat of the day added as if salt and pepper...to ignite the throbbing crowd...into a frenzy induced Blackpool kiss me quick hats....purchase...the young working class local dragon Ladies into hip fashion buying mini skirts,mini shorts so small this old dame could only squint dream of if i was only eighteen once more. as they push shove oblivious,as all youth should.
I did buy a woolen bobble hat for the new winter ahead i am known for my crazy hats at work,so no one bats an eye these days so slut does have some treats now and then....bought some new panties as well took me three goes around the block but i managed it in the end....having shopped to death for most of the day..i took myself to the flicks..to watch G. I. Joe....old B.W...i would not say a hero, for such a term i left behind in childhood, but the character's he plays, sometimes i would give my left tit..for just a few hours,however i suspect there would be a few wounded politicians limping around now..so perhaps best to leave such thoughts in dreams...the film..well i would not buy it on DVD..when released, full of bish bash bosh an imagination only a poet stoned as Collridge was when he scribbled...." water water everywhere but not a drop to drink " in the poem Ancient Mariner was the screen writer in mode...at such times in the darkness the screen big loud creeping around your ears bending thoughts,,of hey who are you..you mean one of them...tut tut...and so my day ends...i have survived another day on the planet, the inner slut sighs..so goeth...



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