well they would be if I was using the telephone, or was speaking to you across a room. Problem with that, is that you, like everyone else ,would have opinions, and therefore would want to get your oar in.
Writting means I can rant with no interuptions.
and whilst Im about it, grammer spelling and punctuation are an invention of the prodestant pamphlaters.and I am not one of the ruins that cromwell knocked about abit. Even though I am a querky reference to the music hall. Anyway the panto season is over.
What have the disgruntled of my town been ranting about this week.

Coffee shops, lunch and coffee at the farmers market,Deus Caritas Est,Litter
and its link to coffee houses, hood wearers, post office opening hours the goodness of bus drivers and roundabouts.

Coffee houses have historically been associated with revolution, artists and dialogue. The meeting house the speakers box of a society .
So lets have more, turn the centre into a coffee experience,bring the populous out of macdonalds and greasy joes.
Hood wearers. Just wear them and they will disappear, grannies for hoods, grumbling old men for baggy trousers, good for men with prostate problems. They will soon disapear.
and the goodness of car mechanics,factory workers council employees catering assistants and maintenance workers of any kind.
Ah the roundabouts of the mind,caught in the spiral, never noticing the original premise.

We have entered those misty days and nights
when fog invades our dreams
the sun forgets to burn away the clouds at noon
and in through cracks seeps gloom

In this time when no colours brighten up our space
Grey predominates
all white is sterility
and all the people you wish to meet
are nowhere to see upon the streets

when minutely focusing the eye
down to the smallest mote of dust
you see nowhere to go
you see nowhere to go
but down to where the worms corrupt.

Raw and empty of device
the black skeleton of trees
bejewelled in ice
spread their arms above
one shelterd flower.