Calling to you jiggaboy...Can't give u a ding dong. Dam'n those montmarte sim cards and babbling operators. Got serious dts here. cant type straight, let alone think straight, or vice versa. Hope you don't mind my jealous japery. (login gave the game away). Need something to occupy mind during vigil, still, hush hush about that. Can u email me? Can't work anything. Is it true ur blighty bound for sun? May await you there or not pending progress.... Much love, de la cochon. Thats baguettes and bordeaux, not bagles and bourbon.XXX
I only undertook to call after the mystery became too much to bear for what I thought was this mine an innocent curious soul. The depths of darkness and confusion...
I've been up at all dawns climbing and winding down the - well it's true - cobbled streets of dear Montmartre, who does yield you know..
Reading childrens books and singing songs all day to my pin and mounted beetles, ashtrays and splendid old doll set you must see. I also have a special normal sized metal biroo pen which the back comes off and is a knife.
I keep listening to 'Bring it on down' and 'Janie Jones'. It's so sweet when MIck does a little American teenager 'woo'oo'oooh'. Do you remember that song 'I've got a crush on you?' Perhaps a pigman special splice is nigh.
Funds are low and there is no heating, but this cheap moonshine liquor fuels the cooker and slugged in dregs keeps my bones rattling slow enough to concentrate more on the shadow.
Be strong my dear and I shall see you on sunday for a drink to drunk the druidy druids and perhaps a well-deserved lapse!
Oh, also, I thought you were a little harsh on Tibley's poem. It's not as if, like Lady Chatterly, all truth becomes obscured by flatterry. Er, if you know what I mean.
Anyways, how do you think when I always get "Pete looks rough" "what a skaghead" "moonface" and "introspective scruffy two-bob freak" and it's always "Oh Carls so fit I'd love to suck 'is booner thrice a morning" or "Me old biddy wants to flick his ticket and wot not"
ahh, well we have to assume wombles are mammals and have volume:surface area ratio thingimy that requires some form of circulatory system, therefore, like, well all (?) mammals would prob involve double circulatory system and haemoglobin stuff and er, that kinda involves blood.... this seemed so much more concise in my heead, therefore, wombles would bleed.
snow is really blinding, in every sense of the word, my word,
errr yes, how right you are, quite. yes snow is grand......but it took us three hours to get from primrose hill to white city yesterday (usually takes 10 mins. I want to go out and play, wish I has a toboggan
The 'wombles' were a revolutionary sect from the era of the Mayday riots in the year 2000. They were rioters who all dressed up like wombles from the t.v series, including tinfoil shields and wobbly truncheons, mimicking the riot police. There were about 12 of them, but they had many enthusiastic disciples.
That year the police managed to keep most people paralysed by rounding them up and forcing them to camp in Oxford Circus. The Wombles led a breakaway group through the backstreets of Soho, eventually, after a peaceful march, the police rounded us off at Shaftesbury Avenue and beat the shit out of us. I remember the front cover of the Daily Record the next day (a scottish newspaper): carnage and brackets upped.
I remember also after that first clash with the wombles running up new Oxford Street, they were stripping off their disguises as they legged it for dear life, blending into the crowd as Uncle Bavaria's head rolled into the gutter. A very odd site for me, and was I , Taliban scarf flapping in the wind, the whole city distorted by liquid LSD dropped in my mouth by a now 'naked' Womble.
Then began the famous 'battle of Roseberry Avenue', wherein our attempts to reach the city's Financial district were scupperred by a well up for it troop of crack riot police who splatterred our rapidly thinning- out group of tripping ne'er do wells all over clerkenwell.