morning

In mourning, actually, for evenings. Night shifts again, and a with all reular events in ou life, take mebackto the last set of small ambitions dreamt up and subsequently unrealised.

There is apark nearby, a romantic place i thought, as i rounded the lake in the dusk, past couples lovingly enticeing hteir toddlers to toddle, panting dogs straining at leads (or in the midle of the path, whie their owners unembarrasedly look away), and watchd thegeese swoop across the sunset to ski in to rest on the rippling waters. Then again, they fish abody out of said pond every few months, so it can't inspire all with a sense of inner peace and love for their fellow man.

It's abit like King's Lynn round here, except the haircuts are better on the whole. Gem of the imagination of 'Snips' of KL was a two-tone barnet: a feather cut with th top half bleached yellow and the bottom half dyed dark brown. When sitting in a room full of KL belles it hadthe effect of being surrounded by pints of stout.

This evening as I applied traction to a broken ankle, it's owner solicited me, as the provebial son of incestuous union to pull it really hard, yeah, really fu**king hard. He then described himself as a *unt, thanked me and my assistant as gentlemen, and went to sleep.