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Monday 17th November 2014.

Mondays should be canned..opened only as a last resort if stranded on a desert island...thankfully i have fallen off the working saddle in one frame of mind that is a big phew captured in a sigh of wow i made it.....after a weeks leave the day becomes a card board cut out on auto-pilot..how soon i slap on to the saddle, takes the brace in the mouth to rush head long into the never ending story as if i have not been away with no back ward glance......to sing tip-toe through the tulips naked on some beach would perhaps finish the day in fine style...thankfully how easy it is to cast the mind back... as such words filter through my mind....Tiny Tim..came into the conversation during the quenching of thirst in a Pub...on Saturday night..what made me look a little closer was the mention from a youth..whom probably was not even thought about in the loins of his makers during that famous rendering of the song..during the 1970 Isle of White pop festival...even myself was a mere whippit..not quite sure whom what i was...these tiny blasts float through my mind easing the day from the madness it sometimes seems as the globe turns through its cycle frothed by the Media Circus so beloved by some, whom have moth balled the seventies in perhaps the same can as i would love to place Mondays just incase on some corner under the street lights someone hums Power to the People......So Goeth...

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bichoose
bichoose

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