Somewhat foolishly I allowed AQA text services to choose my attire for today.
An electronic version of ‘The Dice Man’ and a sartorial Russian Roulette.
I’m a mess.
I don’t usually choose my clothes along sectarian lines but I’m an Irishman’s nightmare; a vision in Black and Tan.
I’ve had the Wolfe Tones in my head all day.
The politics and views of the Wolfe Tones are not necessarily the views of Sleepy.
Hers lurch schizophrenically from the far left to the far right, depending on how closely they affect her, how much she has drunk, what she has drunk, how much she has smoked and the Company! There are some brief visits to the middle too, but a ‘handler’ is usually bundling her out by then!
Crikey! There are some out there.
Yay! Father Geoff Farrow!
I will say one for you next time I’m in St Swiv’s.
BUT…. The SAINT Paul Newman centre?
He’s only been dead a week!
He’ll be fecking G-d by Christmas.
You may have noticed my lack of comment on my Beloved Spurs.
Just fucking don’t!
Ok?
I was telling Sassy yesterday, I can’t bring myself to watch ANY football such is my depression about them.
I must have been close to hysteria at one point and rambling because I almost wished Venables back on us.
Sassy talked me down.
Thanks mate!
2 comments:
Yeah, well see, I'd have said, 'black trousers, white T-shirt'. Tan is NOT a good colour, it so isn't. There is just NO-ONE who can sport it.
I know.. I looked like something that a person on a course of iron injections would crap out!
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