The weekend peers through the open curtains, dawn rises, the news of heavy rain on the way is neatly brushed aside, shall i take my rain coat or simply let nature trip and fart through the day perhaps the rain drops just might miss me and there is always hope to shelter in amongst the bus stop on the way home tonight. More to the point this extra early rise from the pit of dreams means i can sit and have a pot of tea and watch those whom still venture into town markets the way their bodies tell stories....I still keep a snail journal, carry it as if a cross around my neck, as if a sort of comfort hot water bottle we had as kids back in the days before central heating came to England that sense of warmth in teddy bears and warm chocolate sneaked in bed with you....The owner of the tea shop last week asked me if i was a writer..as my journal was open on the small steel table one of those with three legs but really four you know what i mean...i smiled and we chatted about being a Postman instead....Today i shall ponder perhaps become greedy as the concert season becomes tangled with tribute bands..up and coming is a excellent sex pistols band...a good Bowie band and shall i go right back in time be extra greedy and plum for a Doors band....my tiny hippy self thinks almost yes...
Time to greet the day thus wishing all whom pass this way a good weekend ahead and as always luv and peace to all whom pass this way. So Goeth...