bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 12th September 2010.

My old friends in the forlorn hope regiment were waving at me yesterday, i could see them quite clearly,giggling away,big wave smiles uncovering white teeth in unison,one such bugger in the front row unzipped his trousers something big fat and hungry fell out,even as hungry as i was i, resisted the challenge for the time being.
I am thank full that it is only i who can see this daily rabble who's numbers grow as each day the sun becomes lower in the sky and for the months when such a ball of fire does not even bother to come out and play across the sky for even a mere second.
However the main reason i did not race to the heavy fat thing hanging out from the cloth trousers, was that i had a pint of foaming mirth in my hand perhaps the next best thing other than a cock to be holding on a September afternoon in the Duke of York's beer festival. This the sixth year on a row and perhaps the only one i can recall when the climate threw as much rain as it could upon the great unwashed below....The Koran translated by N.J. Dawood...opens up in the second paragraph..." As for unbelievers god has set a seal upon their hearts and ears their sight is dimmed and grievous punishment awaits them. "...perhaps i watched the big plops of rain cascade off the vast umbrella's plop into my foaming mirth, the wind flipped and flapped playing it's own games of tag between each umbrella, my mind was more concerned as to why i did not bring a warmer jacket rather than the endless war between Muslims and Christians which seems to flood every where around the 11th of September it seems the bare bones of the crusades are up dancing in some desert air, the fall out in angry words reaching the soft shores lapping amongst every word mouthed or printed..Did i expect Orlando Bloom to come riding through the forlorn hope, or had i simply gone through far to many pints of foaming mirth to not be able to tell what was real and what was just simply a vision.
Instead i checked to see if my words were slurring, well not quite and so i took to another pint of the foam,stood watching life pass me that conversation was at an end,the Morris Dancers finishing there last traditional dance,the unrehearsed singing of dancing in the rain sparkled in falling rain drops the colours of the rainbow mixed in amongst the dark tarmac, as the towns buses slashed by oblivious to me as much as i was oblivious to the out side world, if one can be melancholy happy then that is the state i had reached,it is hard not to think that my old drinking mate should be stood besides me,i remember the times we were both in awe because a new computer was on the market with three-gig....
I smiled waved to the forlorn hope whom thankfully could tell i was not joining them to day as they climbed on the bus to there next adventure or perhaps lost soul wanking down towards winters rich brew in falling leaves,witches cackling laughs amongst the moss strewn trees.I am mature enough to know when the foaming mirth must end, the empty glass looks as good as a full one,time in those brief few hours away from the nutshell of pounding media inescapable living in the urban red bricked obsolete metropolis,that i tread every day within.
As i took the last slurp placed my glass on the rain soaked table,i reflected on the tiny girl in pink ugg boots the pink so bright,so new,perhaps there is hope after all and the grievous punishment will perhaps pass us by.


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