I don’t know what aquatic life is in Manvers, hopefully I won’t catch elvers, velvet or whatever the disease.
The butterfly beats its wings, and we are all prisoners of time.
And yet, it is very hot.
Well, not as hot as in Yorkshire.
And the irony?
I started writing around six years ago as I was convinced, I was going to die from a heart attack.
(Can you hear the crickets? The Bouzouki?)
Michael was a true rambler, born in Russia he migrated to Glasgow then fought in Egypt and Palestine in the First World War then back to Glasgow and then off to Australia via Ceylon.
I didn’t take my pants to the charity shop.
Is the recession upon us? What I think about my tortoise, what do they think about me?