It's a blazing low down dirty unwashed Thursday. A hobo looking Thursday so hot you could bake beef and vegie family pies in my engine bay in the three and a half minutes it takes from work to home and a self saucing chocolate pudding in the passengers footwell (why you'd want to is anyone's guess). I've been on holidays see, and if holidays were a woman then this dame would have legs that would go for three weeks and she'd be covered in kilometres and fast food wrappers. I write like a detective good yes? (Don't try to visualise that son, you'll only get your heart broken.) It's been too long since I've been in these parts, like an exiled president of twenty years back in his neighborhood to get a short back and sides and a copy of the financial times. I've been busy you see, like a butcher in a community that's just experienced scotch fillet for the first time. My plate has been so full, you could substitute it for the banquet table a...
The various works and occasional ramblings of one man with no plan and everything that happens along the way.