Six hours driving on English motorways is enough to make me numb in the tumble tots landscape covering my mind,a glass of chardonnay relaxes the stiff thoughts as i sit here watching the white screen poke out its tongue and go blab at me,but deep down i know it luvs me.
Out side my window the fireworks are raging against the night sky the reasons for this have been lost on the whiff of history books been sent to dusty alcoves perhaps it is right for what does age of tradition really mean if the people tonight with matches in there hands are also drinking a glass of chardonnay..on that note it is time to feed my fantasies,to retire to the golden comfort of cotton sheets treated with respect for how many of the worlds population have neither sheets or cotton so goeth.