A prize every time

    These are the days that will be someone’s good old days and in so many ways they could be right, the future is the night unrolled, the fortunes that were never told, the things you did and then got old, these are the days.   A slipped disc keeps on playing the same…

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The end

  He didn’t even comb his hair, what a scruff what a duff and I don’t mean the beer, although it feels like Bart Simpson it’s actually Boris Johnson, it must be time to get out of here…

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Windermere

    I used to be able to get eight skims off a single pebble before it did a dive into the lake and now I’ll soon be sixty-four   and can’t get eight skims anymore,   what a bastard time can be when it won’t let me be twenty-three again…

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On the turn of a Tuesday

  Through the squint of a half opened eye watching the crayon of morning drawing the sky. Seagulls on their way to Southend via the East End. Impressions are all that is left…

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