Ra No No No.12!
Tuesday 9:00 p.m.
I've got a bike; you can ride it if you like. It's got a bell and I got it on the never never. Syd Barrett popped his clogs last week. Anyway, I have purchased a big thing even if it was on the never never. It should look like this. It says Ridgeback on it. It costs about £300, but I get £18 a month taken off my wages every month for 18 months and that's it. It costs £36 a month to get the number 12 (my favourite bus of all time!), but you don't have to push it.
I carried the bike down 67 stairs to the front door and, when I opened it, discovered that it was raining outside. So, I carried my bike back up the 67 stairs to our flat.
I congratulate myself on keeping the flatheids at bay for so long! Then one little falter in the wall of no way, fung off, why can't you basturns leave me alone, and three or four whole days just disappear. Just like that. I think I may have my mind back to where it was last Friday by tomorrow afternoon. As part of the recuperation programme, I went back to the allotment this afternoon. And sat in the hut for two and a half hours.
A wren came to visit me. The windows of the hut face south and are made of chicken wire. Buglia grows over some of the chicken wire. Buglia attracts butterflies. It is blue behind the buglia for some of today. So inside the hut is pretty sparce. The floor is covered in dust, but it's quite clear. I was going to stay in the hut this summer, but I haven't. Anyway, it's pretty clear now. I sit at floor level and face the door. There is a wren's nest above the door, but it wasn't used this year for rearing chicks. Then this wren comes through the chicken wire and jumps about at the nest. Then it holds onto the wall. How they do that, I don't know! It came closer to me as I sat there than any wrens had ever done before. There's been a wren's nest in the hut for about eight years anyway. The wren really cased the joint. It even hopped on the floor. Very familiar with this place. Who knows what's going on with wrens?
I think I found flatheids a wee bit scary at the weekend, especially after hiding away from them so successfully recently. They cannot do ra bliss! What a tragedy! But what larks! Shame for them though. It really is. Of course, I'm a complete disgrace as usual. I don't even know what ra bliss is! Or why it came down to me, or out of me. Or why did I manage to get down to ra bliss and, still, everyone I know is a flatheid.
Can I go back to the Unheard of Island now, Jack?
I just thought the joe who wrote the lyrics for the Popeye song must have been some kind of genius. Unfortunately, there are no verses left.
I've got a bike; you can ride it if you like. It's got a bell and I got it on the never never. Syd Barrett popped his clogs last week. Anyway, I have purchased a big thing even if it was on the never never. It should look like this. It says Ridgeback on it. It costs about £300, but I get £18 a month taken off my wages every month for 18 months and that's it. It costs £36 a month to get the number 12 (my favourite bus of all time!), but you don't have to push it.
I carried the bike down 67 stairs to the front door and, when I opened it, discovered that it was raining outside. So, I carried my bike back up the 67 stairs to our flat.
I congratulate myself on keeping the flatheids at bay for so long! Then one little falter in the wall of no way, fung off, why can't you basturns leave me alone, and three or four whole days just disappear. Just like that. I think I may have my mind back to where it was last Friday by tomorrow afternoon. As part of the recuperation programme, I went back to the allotment this afternoon. And sat in the hut for two and a half hours.
A wren came to visit me. The windows of the hut face south and are made of chicken wire. Buglia grows over some of the chicken wire. Buglia attracts butterflies. It is blue behind the buglia for some of today. So inside the hut is pretty sparce. The floor is covered in dust, but it's quite clear. I was going to stay in the hut this summer, but I haven't. Anyway, it's pretty clear now. I sit at floor level and face the door. There is a wren's nest above the door, but it wasn't used this year for rearing chicks. Then this wren comes through the chicken wire and jumps about at the nest. Then it holds onto the wall. How they do that, I don't know! It came closer to me as I sat there than any wrens had ever done before. There's been a wren's nest in the hut for about eight years anyway. The wren really cased the joint. It even hopped on the floor. Very familiar with this place. Who knows what's going on with wrens?
I think I found flatheids a wee bit scary at the weekend, especially after hiding away from them so successfully recently. They cannot do ra bliss! What a tragedy! But what larks! Shame for them though. It really is. Of course, I'm a complete disgrace as usual. I don't even know what ra bliss is! Or why it came down to me, or out of me. Or why did I manage to get down to ra bliss and, still, everyone I know is a flatheid.
Can I go back to the Unheard of Island now, Jack?
I just thought the joe who wrote the lyrics for the Popeye song must have been some kind of genius. Unfortunately, there are no verses left.
posted by Hotboy at 9:09 PM
1 Comments:
Has it got a basket, a bell and rings and things to make it look good?
That would help. And snow chains for the winter.
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