Sunday Morning this white blank screen squints whispers is that you???....i sigh, yes i know time is a bucket one cannot always dip into when one wants people, the world evan my own body and mind crouch in cabbage patches hurling huge cabbages blotting the landscape into disjointed hairpins along lifes rocky road....picking through all this mass is a journey for myself called old age coming over the hill at an alarming rant, mouth wide open flashing super toothpaste teeth with lips so lipstick red whatever shard of sunshine is in the air is deminished to a whimper.
People in white coats whisper old men of 62..should not be drinking Lucozade...and how many cans of Coke-a Cola do you comsume in a week never mind IRN-BRU....tut tut....i scamper away into a dark room and nibble on a slice of chocolate mice in the corner shiver whisper tongues rake the floor their tiny feet patter...the crumbs in the choclate wrapper i drift their way..tails stiffen they gorge....i quietly leave the room is this what old age does....i sigh after all tis but Sunday the rush of rubber tyres on tarmac outside this rooms window has not quite begun....
I am now down to my last...five full time working days in this blue uniform...so far since i woke up one morning and felt WTF....it's time to roll off the tread mill for awhile alsorts of wee nasties have hurled cabbages into my path every thing from you'll be missed..to you'll regret retireing so early.
However both my mind and body have whispered don't you dare work past the date we have given you or else you'll have more than a few cabbages to attend too....So Goeth..and take care all whom pass this way.