‘It is strange how my head can be so full of great, innovative, stories and ideas and then, suddenly, as soon as I pick up a pen and paper, all of this burgeoning, creative talent vanishes. leaving me floating in a frustrated void.
Fire flickr’ing tounges.
Tempting caverns within the embers.
Taking Sunday slowly, sheltering,
From the slashing, freaking, gusting weather
With an attitude of prooving our resistance.
T.V. and wellies.
The slow contented sigh of a man.
The crackling fire warms my arse as I sit with my knees up.
Blinking with dry eyes.
In my mind my ambitions burn, then mingle and merge , like smoke.
Where to begin again?!!’