February 12th, 2017

Sunday 12th February 2017.

The weekend has slipped from my grasp once more..the hours have tickled,slapped, oral orgied amongst a field of thoughts rampant as a troglodytes wedding, i can say the free hours from working my tiny red van have been used to slip inside a chardonnay bottle..sing loudly whilst washing after dinner plates during the midnight hour to the tune of Galleries of Pink Galahs...by Mr Australia...John Williamson...the simple small stuff cooks the mind into a peaceful Saturday night, blows the harrows of the working week into the dust bowls of history.
A phone call this morning caused a heavy sigh as i pulled on my wrinkled stockings, pulled off the covers off my tiny red van to roar amongst the crazy streets of Manchester a rainbow of brickwork, traffic bugged roads with everyman and his dog doing the traffic can-can with no sight of any pink elephants around the bend...all this in deep midwinter with ant egg sized snow flakes trying like fook to land on planet earth, it was as if the gods had constipation in barnacled porcelain...however i made it through the whole nine yards with half a smile which left me some time to capture some of the bugs in this small room to form some sort of order where i can at least see the back wall..the clutter within is simply spiffy from a serious biscuit collector like myself with the most famous saying of all time there is always tomorrow.So Goeth...