Hair today, goon tomorrow.

Steppin' out all glow and glitter,
Curtains twitch and eyelids flicker.
Low, low buzz of tongues a-twitter,
Red hair. No knickers.

I see a story in the world, and it's friends that set it to music.

Stopped counting

The years creak by, one more missed birthday. Sister cooked us tea and made it special. I sat by the fire till midnight clicked through.

Been clearing my inbox today and found some old matter of fact messages - shopping lists, 'spag bol' for tea? And this one.

"As the bright light from the sun shone onto the patterned floor in the
sitting room, there 'dead centre' of the room appeared two nasty
looking patches. Was it a trick of the light, a shadow or something
worse? No, it was nasty smelling OIL - we may have to do something
about replacing the carpet if the marks won't come out - Robert and I
have done our best, we'll just have to wait and see.

PS could you also get some cooked ham for the kids sandwiches."

Message received, understood - and kept. Glass raised.

Wanderlust

Wanderlust. Hmmm. The lust I've always suffered.
As for wandering? Well in the words of Ted Chippington - I'm not the wanderer.
As for the king of wanderlust? Me and the long haired ginger freak went to see Gogol Bordello a few months ago.
Superb.
Formed a queue outside, picked a spot down front, and watched the world roll in to the point of heaving. Wasn't the oldest one in the room either. Excellent!

Out again last week to the talent show at my daughter's High School. No longer the stomping ground of the boy - he's moved on to pastures new but couldn't resist coming along to catch up with all his old buddies. Some of who came along on Friday to the Shed for a spot of Them Harvey Boys. For what was a rollicking good evening!

Cheers Eugene, but I'm alright lusting and wandering around my own backyard...