But soft, what tennis ball through yonder window breaks?

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I don't now, you clear off for so many years, simply to paint a few watercolours, have them made into jigsaws and then fail to complete them. Which is a perfectly acceptable way to spend one's time, of course. But then you get back and find the old place in disrepair. Bats in the belfry, so to speak. But does one simply throw one's hands up and say hang it all, I'm off to have some of me vertebrae turned into a Newton's Cradle? Does one simply up sticks and repair to Darkest Skelmersdale, therein to lurk? Does one take to the stage, any stage or write the Great american Novel despite one glaring drawback, viz, that of not being an American. Of course not. One rolls up ones sleeves, surveys the premises with a purposeful eye, and goes to the pub. This is, after all, Ask a Drunk.

Bartlebooth, Sunday, 16 October 2016 00:00 (two years ago) Permalink

three months pass...

man Chief Keef really has expanded his wordplay

Neanderthal, Thursday, 2 February 2017 05:55 (two years ago) Permalink


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