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Ode to Dingleberry You come in here My heart it sinks When ever you’re near My job just stinks You tell me I do things Not quite right When I’ve done them before Without all your shite To think you earn Much more than me Its hard to believe Your degree was free* And yet
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A pipe dream I have involves me being all dirty and wrinkly, living in some old Continental European village sitting outside some pavement café, tabac or bar, drinking, smoking and talking shite with other old geezers while playing dominoes or some game with matches or something. All around me the world would go about it’s
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There are several new people on my F-List so I thought I’d do a run down on the goings on to this day.
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A poem for the lovely goddesszero Doing The Dishes I stand and wash the dishes The sink all filled with soap I rinse the plates of fishes With marigolds I will cope. The mugs all brown with tannin The spoons all grey with cream The roasting dish all crusty brown One wipe and they are
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My god! Will it never end! Where was I? Oh yeah…Conway. So we did Conway. The weather there was stonkingly splendid but our return to Anglesey brought disheartening thoughts. For over the Menai Straits sat a big nasty black cloud. It was raining. Still. The winds hadn’t abated much. The promise of further bad weather
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Just when you thought it was safe to pack in camping….. My god! You didn’t think I’d finished did you? It was Wednesday 2nd August. We awoke, nipped into Aberdaron for a cooked breakfast then dashed back to camp to feverishly repack everything into the Vectra. Our next stop was Rhosnieger in Anglesey to meet
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Further holiday adventures I swear, I’m sure you’ll get bored of this before I do. The evening after the cycle trip was again spent sat round a campfire reading Buried while the serenity of the Welsh Countryside went about its business. Sticking with things Welsh, I imbibed this delightful ale from a local brewery. Next
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The Compostual Existentialist 