Mighty
Grandad September 5th, 2011
There is one aspect of this place I had nearly forgotten about.
The Wimmin.
As we say in Ireland – the wimmin is only fuckin’ mighty!
We went into one of the local towns today and sat outside a cafe in the sun, supping coffee and smoking the pipe. [Not Herself – she doesn’t smoke a pipe, that I am aware of.]
The wimmin that passed by on the street really shouldn’t be allowed. They wobble in all the right places and the places that shouldn’t wobble don’t, if you know what I mean. There wasn’t a Skanger, a Skobie or a Scrubber amongst them. I swear I have memorised enough daydreams already to last me for a full year. I also swear that they aren’t good for my health. There again, I did achieve a pulse rate equivalent to running the 500 metres, so maybe they are a good thing?
It was just as well I had an old jumper to throw across my legs.
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