November 29th 2018

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A solitary discarded pink rose lies forlornly on the new bench at the tall trees. The only splsh of colour in an otherwise khaki countryside, the wonderful golds and rusty reds have gone, brown and toad green are all that remains, even the single little pink flower has hung up its petals for the year. Death is all that remains, Mother Nature’s sickle of senescence scything through the seasons. Thats what happens.

Theres been a lot of rain, and today I saw a rainbow in Herefordshire, Westest Herefordshire; Dorston, I think. I said to the lady, whose house I was trespassing on,

“Look, a rainbow.” pointing with my hand.

She looked at me, witchlike and told me it was bad luck to point at rainbows. 30 minutes later I spoke to my Dad who jumbled his words and we ended up arguing. Its ok now, problem solved, love him.

The Brexit situation is getting no better and America is fucked. It’s funny the people who we should trust are the most untrustworthy bunch of cunts you should ever wish to come across. Who’d be a politician? It’s all so unfair.

Well I’m exhausted after a lovely dinner with my family, a couple of good gins, some crap reality TV and some Pye Corner Audio. There is not much better than that.

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