Wednesday, 27 March 2013


Back from the dead

Yes I'm still in the land of the living. Just got a bad habit of getting enthusiastic about something - and then abandoning things for ages. This blog being just one of those things.
Sorry about that. 
Today was the chorus of madmen (pissed at 1pm, but harmless, and probably a bit deranged to start with, even before he drenched the old cerebral cortex with alcohol) and babies. Both very repetitive. The drunken bloke was on about having lived in "Crocky" (i.e. Croxteth for non Liverpool people) for fourteen years, with all the nutcases. I assume he meant the violent ones, rather than the seemingly peaceful ones like himself. The baby kept on saying "i-YA" and the mum cooed at her. Like a much cuter, gentler version of this grim, nasty old harpy at work that screeches "I-ya baaaaabe". Or sometimes, doll. She walks just like a zombie. 

Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Monday 28th May

In the pub, on a date with Bicycle Man. Help this is meant to be on the other blog, but I did meet the guy at the bus stop so it's tangentially related.

Lovely dog story (2)

St Bernard
Should have taken a picture really. This dog was bloody enormous and docile. He took up the whole screaming brats and orange mothers area, practically. Makes a change from the surly staffies with zonked out cracked out scally owners attached.

Lovely Dog Story (1)

It's not all angst and aggro. Maybe sometimes it's just too early to summon up the energy. A lovely big husky got on the bus. A woman made a great big fuss about him. Nothing to do with dog or owner, just a random, gushing. The dog ambled up to me, and I reached out to stroke him, keeping it pretty calm and reserved. The woman screeched, come back. His owner was a bit nonplussed. Not even her dog in the first place.
Huh. Maybe he preferred my calm approach. You wonder whether cute creatures human or animal really appreciate visible fuss and gushing.

Saturday, 5 May 2012

Time Mix Up oh No

Two Winter-of-Discontent original special punks - lad with a mauve mohican. Around 1979 I'd say. Girl a bit less convincing. A goth as well. Always more comforting than the times when there's a policeman at the back of the bus. A drunken bloke singing Que Sera Sera, dolefully.
I was wearing a Weimar Industrialist's wife outfit. Like the enemy party in a John Heartfield photomontage.
The bus hurtled apace, past the Orange Lodge which was trying to entice people in with TWO car boot sales. Tuesday and Friday. After all the sectarian jamboree isn't too far away.