(Click to embigger)
...sound of wind whistling in the telegraph wires, a small piece of tumbleweed emerges and rolls along the track and another ego is put in its place...
Mind you, I can remember pissing off older people like this and so we're evens now...
...
14 comments:
Love it!
It's good isn't it Blues!
I like the thought of the old boy sitting there with a jaw problem, presumably picked on by the 'lad', and just spitting out the answer with a mouthful of teeth!
Excellent.
It occurred to me that only recently I seem to have switched sides. I am now an oldie, not a young upstart. I wonder when that happened? It feels kind of liberating though.
Don't worry Relucs, I still get around wearing jeans with a jacket...
Beast advised against that some time ago, but I persevered!
I do wonder what I will be able to say I've done for the next generation.
I'm not sure there's much difference between me and an old fashioned tribesman.
At leased wee lernd to reed an rite an spel proppa, dinwe?
Elecs,
You're bringing up two great boys for a start!
I bet they don't expect a life of misery because their Dad - and Mum - doesn't want to know!
You clearly did GG!
Welcome back BTW!
Superb!
PS. Your azalea is thriving. I knew I was getting older when I began to take an interest in the garden...
x
Hee hee, excellent!
I never said things like that to older people.
Thanks Lils; glad you had a good break!
The azaleas are just picking up here too, hope they flower, as the Forestry have pruned theirs back to a few bare branches...
Of course you didn't Pips - far too refined...
Scrobs, I was told by a chap recently that his father would agree with Peter Hitchens that I am a horrible person and should be avoided because of my education and because I speak with a regional accent. This last point was said quietly and gently as if mentioning some embarrassing personal complaint like bad breath or uncontrolled farting. It wouldn't matter what I said apparently. They consider me about as refined as two mile o' bad road, as they say round here, in a regional accent.
I tend to form my opinion of folk based on what they say rather than the accent used to say it in. A silk wrapped load of bollocks is still just that. But for some strange reason, after that gentle revelation, I felt an urgent need to design a tattoo and have lager for breakfast.
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