Aint got muffin to say. It's all cool and zure as we say here. Azure isn't Blue, blue is sad, that's what northern tribes have.
Tomorrow I gonna rock. I can feel the song of the stone, it's there in the colure de vent, it is in the air, the sand was falling, there's been a red mist, or fog from Africa for a week. A red point day?
Or a bloody day of failure, who cares, either way I win.
Trees have seen a lot, we cut them down here, to make way to park more cars, or to plant others that the EU buy us for the ones we cut down. This tree winks at everybody with their cameras and selfie sticks, nobody sees it, they just don't see her, or him, or its collective usness. The pleasure tour people tout for customers a few yards away, and this magnificent tree hangs out with five of it's clan, I think it is a MacTavish tree from Libya, one of the early migrants. Good luck and good wishes to good folk, otherwise the fat finger of Fatima and Stevie Macsporran Haston to you.
