where art collides

I turned the heating on today.  Another notch on the season’s belt. I’m feeling strangely calm,  important decision made. That’s it. We won’t be going back. What now? Winter’s approach. Nosebiting cold. Wait for the storm.

…whatsis name now oh hang on, Vince Cable worra lump of wood – its unbelievable they don’t know nothing guv they don’t know what’s going on in the country.  God they should get themselves out and about a bit more guv, they should get themselves out west, go west.

You’ve only got to go 8 miles, 10 miles west the whole area, the whole area Ruislip, Ickenham, Hillingdon, Feltham, Hayes, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis.  Slough is a war zone, the police won’t even come out in Slough. You call the police they won’t even bother to come out.  They’ve got the Rumanians, the Bulgarians, the Poles they stand on street corners, 20 or 30 men. 20 or 30 of them there they stand on street corners and all they’re looking at is to kill each other. It’s unbelievable. It’s unbelievable and we’ve let it go and it’s too late now to stop it.

I’m a bit upset today because I was playing golf this morning but (more…)

Tshirt and shorts with bare feet contrast with the hard to walk on lawn covered in wrinkle  dry  leaves painful to the naked touch. The start of autumn and end of the summer overlap, rugby  replacing cricket but rainless scorch remains. Panic strikes a production-eased ice cream industry settling down for the off season. Perspiration drips off my nose and onto the table.