A rebel without a clue.

I've had one of them days. From first leaving the house with the north westerly creaking through the trees. To returning to the mess of 97. It's a cursed day. 23 May 2011 you will be infamy. I will now quit this no go. I can't maintain this unreal drifting in the tower of doom. While the hurricane spins around the banks of the Aire and beyond. Bringing brimstone and frightening ferocity that would try to remove us who are sinned against. More sinned than sinning. I have no options here.

M onkey puzzle trees right, left and left left. A solitary weeping willow too. Arranged around the Eastgate/Quarryhill roundabout, which is now disused where once there were fountains and before that a Fina Garage. I am travelling back towards Wetherby on the 3rd of May and I am telling myself I need to visit Mind, the mental health charity, on Kirkstall Lane, and I must venture there soon. This bus always takes the same forsaken route to get out of Leeds; with its bland 'To Let' bulldozed wastelands, low rise warehousing with its pulled down shutters and a Nissan flagship and another few dozen flurried showrooms which are so out of place in this cheap rent part of Leeds. Where the very nature itself springs from the roofs of too often forgotten Victoriana: Tailors', Machinists' and Pressers' Trade Union on Cross Stamford Street . From behind me on the bus I hear the sound of second hand 'r n b', the dumb and chavie youths music of distinction, but ...