I have not posted five days on the trot for many a moon..in fact i doubt i ever have in all my years on L.J.....i cannot even think how i came by Live Journal all those years ago, as each time i mention it to folk they always look aghast.
However i am here this evening aghast in myself. Fresh out of the shower having been performing with a paint brush for most of the day with an odd stoppage as i watched the snow flakes fall to the ground, they always look so soothing falling silently, once or twice in the past i have stepped out in the back garden in darkness naked just to feel them drop across my skin as sometimes the old pagan hippy factor spills into life, for i am sure those whom live across the fence would indeed be aghast during day light. Working through it is another matter for there is no time to stand and stare the banging drum of work beats the soul into not looking back in anger or softness of the falling white stuff.


This particular shot was taken in March 2018..when the tiny red van was indeed mine..if i recall correctly i became jammed in snow drifts futher down the road and had to dig myself out and cut a across a golf coarse...a lesson much learnt for the future...i smile now at the thought, back then the air was indeed blue. I also worked on my old route last Saturday and knew why i hung up my work boots back in the summer of 2018..i miss the work lads i knew, all the banter and leg pulling and those whom one knew had affection for oneself but the actual climbing into this red van along the route is the past... for there are far to many good memories i want to keep in the old kettle of dreams...for there a very good few people also into the last nine yards of life and the last thing i wanted was to witness all their trinkets being trucked away to the charity shops as if the soul of the cottage was stripped bare....perhaps it's a tad selfish on my soul,a touch of vanity maybe but i recall a gentle old lady whom i called Ma Henderson whom lived in a cottage tucked into a hill further along this road her thought on life was to drink the wine and smile....her family her moved up to Scotland and sold the cottage....within six months she had passed away in an old folks home....When you are on these old rural duities you become quite attached to those whom you pass through each working day for some as if part of the family...as T-Rex once sang...Life's a gas....which i think sums up some of these tiny cottages one stumbles across.
Which brings me gently to this evening,the rush of rubber tyres outside this window have calmed as the rush hour draws to a close, snow still falls though gently in those fine dust balls no bigger than frog's balls, the clock as ever ticks, the sad news of a famous footballer lost at sea makes one be thankful for life....and lastly a tune popping up on my I-Pod whilst holding a paint brush today makes me smile over Brexit...Anarchie pour le U.K. by the old Sex Pistols and should i post tomorrow making a sixth day would it conclude AND ON THE SIXTH DAY GOD CREATED MANchester
Which indeed lies on the side a famous building in Manchester..where old hippies, young punks, and old panto dames like me buy the odd retro dress, gaudy lipsticks and wrinkled stockings.....So Goeth...