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Sunday 2nd August 2015.

Perhaps it is a week since i last scribbled across this big wide blank space...was i still waiting for summer to arrive..perhaps i am this morning..the concrete sky above is imbedded blocking out anyy thoughts of sunshine...i glance across at the clock hear the rush of rubber tyres out side the window and sigh one of those Fuck it sighs that hug my shoulders bring on a lazy lob and pout at the window and think perhaps this afternoon Summer will arrive.
The week again since i last sat here has been a bucking bronco in the tangled work saddle...i have to pull on the old uniform today for a brief period to cover a fellow work..as a small favour..perhaps it might be a delight...perhaps a giant cock will walk past me and smack me on the head..i just might laugh or simply rattle in shock down the forlorn streets of Manchester...home of the giant raindrops..sometimes i love the dear old city and sometimes i feel as if it is the last place on earth..a local Dj..on a wireless station in excitment early this summer said Manchester was the best City in the world..of all the ones i have planted my feet across, passing through the crazy street mix within its urban bewilderment and evocitive name i thought of a good few that outclass this old heavy industrial City...Barcelona is perhaps one.
Besides that for an old transvestite i am well the wrinkled stockings have not quite slumped to my ankles,once i clear the clutter from my mind ever ranking team talks, bubbled words in sky colours as how to perform, swamped by all the propaganda spitting out from the wireless from politicians new list of what to eat and what to not, in an effort to draw one screaming and kicking towards the golden era of being an OAP but you must work a few more years yet..when one really knows they would rather have us gaga in a pine box and work forever....The sixities classic song...Whiter Shade Of Pale drifted over the wireless whilst on my travels to the home of Robin Hood..the City of Nottingham yesterday on a small task i was half way across the moors the view was one i sighed across, rolling moors, crisp green fields with those stone walls i always wonder whom built them, raindrop free as the sun began its journey to Australia and beyond..was life really that simple during the sixites and as for transvestites of the time how indeed did they manage....So goeth...

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