When TS Eliot was contemplating the utter futility of life as evidenced by the commuters flowing to work over London Bridge of a morning, he was either caught in the wrong era or not paying attention.
The first few warm days of Spring in London and the women bloom into a riot of colour, and offer much more than a glimpse of stocking. Happy days. In Shifnal I've had to make do with the mannequin in the dress shop window changing into a natty pair of denim hot-pants. The little minx.
Blokes are not so good at this ancient April rite. I was walking to the deli Saturday and it was a warm-for-Shropshire mid 60s lunchtime. I met two men walking past me in quick succession. The first was wearing a red sleeveless t-shirt, red shorts, and red flip-flops. The incipient sunburn was beginning to work its magic on his overall look. A couple of minutes later I was passed by a bloke wearing a heavy full-length coat, woollen scarf and gloves....
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About Me
- Gary
- In my twenties I was a failed poet. In my thirties I wrote a book on gambling which was very nearly published. In my forties I wrote a small book about moving from London to Shropshire, which remains unpublished. Into my fifties and the quest continues...
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