The goblins with the curly fingers always seem to have only the custard creams in the biscuit tin to choose from.Does this mean they taste better having been left by the rapid mass transported folk whom in their wisdom had eaten all the Chocolate bourbons as their  hands have clasped greedily in an effort, to gain access to the blind ally, they seem to be hurtling into, pushed prodded by those who's hands tied the Enclosure Acts of old..have they learned nothing from the past or has the colour of the chocolate made them only rush faster down the stone steps into oblivion.
What of our children i ask..or is it simply the pleasure of fucking in that moment,that urge, that release, or perhaps the golden pound of child benefit pulls the seed, and not fifty years down the track  for whom fall  out of the womb free for mere seconds until placed on the breast.Hence the cycle begins cannon fodder not so much for the mud of the Somme..but the cramped quarters of the cold calling telephone call centres..But then perhaps i am to old to think progress is progress...so goeth as Old Hugh's first anniversary pears around the corner....