bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Easter Sunday 27th March 2016.

I would call this an average Easter on the weather front for those where Grim up North..floats a thousand flowers rain has been the norm...Jack Frost and Nomad Snowball have thankfully been quiet...I am thankfull for this small break as my uniform lies in the corner moaning to itself...far to loudly for my liking...i know we seam, still, to be addicted to each other, an orgasm of postal letters floats our boat..some people ask me why but i have no answer just a mumble under my breath and only whisper i like the wanderlust in not knowing what each day brings....Today this morning i got out the stick of Rhubarb and mouched around the house smacking clocks to push the hour forward into British Summer Time...then i rushed out into the fields to find all those farmers baling hay and to see the super land girls with ribbons in their hair,breasts pointing to the stars singing Vera Lynn songs as they worked....However i only found silence, one man and his dog and enough Mcdonald wrappers to sink a battle ship floating down the road....the War has been over far longer than i have walked the planet with the worlds tecno pig snorting so loud in modern gizmo's i ask my self the quistion why the playing with clocks is still mainstream, the land girls have all gone and most of the farmers too....i sighed...Instead cooked some bacon, packed away as a picnic,set off down the A-Roads leading away from the Manchester Basin into the twisting turns narrow hedged roads with barely a Mc donalds wrapper lying by the road odd old bucket perhaps, the further you travel away from barnacled Manchester the cleaner the hedgerows, the soul softens with each turn and faith in life the meaning of Easter stretches away up into the stars....being alive feels objective was one of the few English Pottery firms still in the Potteries...Emma Bridgewater....thier web site said..Bummmmmmmper Easter including opening Easter Sunday....Sadly they must have thought bollocks,as the cold heavy chains on the gates remained locked..thinking perhaps they had forgot the British Summer Time, bungle we waited an hour, ate bacon butties and laughed at least we were not the only Mini Cooper in the car park....The journey home up on the moors passing through some of those one horse villages, houses stranded alone on the hilside, passing Rudyard Kippling's home front i thought as my passengers gently slept, that indeed i could be a rual postman there...So Goeth....and oh yes Happy Easter all....

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