You pay me no attention and I don’t blame you but I wish you good luck and want to remember your call. The lights have changed now, Mr ‘Bring out your dead’, you’ll be needing to unfold the legs you raised and rested on the ‘crossbar’, release the brake, ring your bell, call and leave.
Category Archives: Memories
Dear Mr Man at the Station
To the small group who stroll chatting, slapping various joints to increase circulation and to the lungers, striders, slipper shufflers and park dancers, you are…
Does boot camp mean no more pubs?
I am not a typical ‘boot camp’ kind of person. I do not respond well to being shouted at; I do not like to fail and my vacillating commitment level to exercise varies somewhere between stubborn refusal and fearful avoidance. Still, I knew no one would expect me to do it so this grim assumptionContinue reading “Does boot camp mean no more pubs?”
Cataracts and Dirty Vests
21st May I didn’t sleep the night before last. Well, that’s a lie. I did actually sleep. For four hours. Now I don’t usually have trouble with sleeping; in an annoying explicitly counterproductive way, occasionally, when I’m stressed I’ll wake part way through the night and that’ll be it. It’s funny, sleep never eludesContinue reading “Cataracts and Dirty Vests”
She went to Shanghai 