The Ghost part 4
What a messy day sunday was: all day in bed. I didn't feel quite normal until 3ish and only left the house at 3:30. Water, cider, water, cider, cider. Chelsea poor, season done and dusted. Home at 8pm for a slap-up dairylea and ham warburton-a-thon. Guess who is there: Snoops. A whole day early, nice. Feel happy with a few chance encounters this weekend that make me feel a little less abandoned entirely.
On Sunday I was most impressed with C. Such a fruity and lusty thing. A plaything with pendulous breasts with a deep inviting cleft between and a right curvaceous body and a nose twinkling with delight. Hair off red turning violet or deeper crimson. Just loves to tell stories in a giddy prose.
Lucy Saturday: short platinum blonde with full pouting lips and wonderful hips. I catch a glimpse of laced white bra and the swell of her charms. My eyes linger. She has bright blue eyes that sparkle in the afternoon light. She is a prize. I forgot my bank card so 1 pint then back for a rest on Saturday. She's off out in Leeds, with boyfriend no doubt, and she works a barwench magic alright.
Later that night roaming town looking for anyone. Muse no, new inn no, 3hree yes. Paul, Lucy(not the same) milk maid, Claire and another(didn't ask). 2 pints of cheerless cider and entertainment from SURFU? Sheffield rugby union on tour and singing or serenading 4 brunettes who left taking away a flower box on their coach journey. I failed to realize it is Dan Jones' birthday.
How busy is that post office in the St. John's centre? Far too much effort for a meagerly £6 profit.
I finally got a jiffybag: and Airkraft size 0 from WHS. And I think I'll venture down to Kirkgate PO.
Interview on Thursday at Revolution in The Calls. One will come good? Surely if I stay positive?
And what have I got to lose?
The rain is falling down. Bucketing down. I'm not in a rush. Just bought reduced goods for tea. Will stay in Pret for an Americano.
Ladder in tights. Green fingernails. Painted. High forehead and bee pendant. Or maybe a moth or maybe a flame? Eric the half a bee. Funny how many ladies were stuck in the entrance of Pret while the skies emptied. How they would've looked like the drowned rats they positively stink of. What a trivial set of consumer monkeys we have become.
Pub puub? Purb? Peb?
Pleb. I'm a pleb and you are consul? Oligarch chic. Senate/tribune. North south. I don't want to go to Chelsea.
On Sunday I was most impressed with C. Such a fruity and lusty thing. A plaything with pendulous breasts with a deep inviting cleft between and a right curvaceous body and a nose twinkling with delight. Hair off red turning violet or deeper crimson. Just loves to tell stories in a giddy prose.
Lucy Saturday: short platinum blonde with full pouting lips and wonderful hips. I catch a glimpse of laced white bra and the swell of her charms. My eyes linger. She has bright blue eyes that sparkle in the afternoon light. She is a prize. I forgot my bank card so 1 pint then back for a rest on Saturday. She's off out in Leeds, with boyfriend no doubt, and she works a barwench magic alright.
Later that night roaming town looking for anyone. Muse no, new inn no, 3hree yes. Paul, Lucy(not the same) milk maid, Claire and another(didn't ask). 2 pints of cheerless cider and entertainment from SURFU? Sheffield rugby union on tour and singing or serenading 4 brunettes who left taking away a flower box on their coach journey. I failed to realize it is Dan Jones' birthday.
How busy is that post office in the St. John's centre? Far too much effort for a meagerly £6 profit.
I finally got a jiffybag: and Airkraft size 0 from WHS. And I think I'll venture down to Kirkgate PO.
Interview on Thursday at Revolution in The Calls. One will come good? Surely if I stay positive?
And what have I got to lose?
The rain is falling down. Bucketing down. I'm not in a rush. Just bought reduced goods for tea. Will stay in Pret for an Americano.
Ladder in tights. Green fingernails. Painted. High forehead and bee pendant. Or maybe a moth or maybe a flame? Eric the half a bee. Funny how many ladies were stuck in the entrance of Pret while the skies emptied. How they would've looked like the drowned rats they positively stink of. What a trivial set of consumer monkeys we have become.
Pub puub? Purb? Peb?
Pleb. I'm a pleb and you are consul? Oligarch chic. Senate/tribune. North south. I don't want to go to Chelsea.
Comments