Hello. To be fair the experience prompting this verse related to an issue in a front garden, not rear; but you try sourcing an image to match that scenario (much thanks to Monika Kozub for the one used, by the way).
A recent conversation about what can be donated to homeless charities prompted the memory that inspired this list of terrible smells.
Potentially the unhappiest happy ending ever
A Life of Crime vs. The Free Market Supplemental
‘The Elephant and Castle shopping centre, once a symbol of hope and regeneration could be on its last legs…’ started a BBC article published while I was in the throes of finishing the A Life of Crime… series.
If hearing a similar statement when living nearby—permanently 1984 to 86 and then again 1988 to 99—I would’ve partied hard like it was the latter year.
Welcome to a world of cruel dystopian colour; a place where the wills of people are crushed to smithereens while they writhe, screaming and yelling, for more-more-more, please; a realm of defecating into giant reverberating chambers that regurgitate it all as an intellectual sustenance gleefully chowed down on with great gusto and—mmm . . . yummy—appetite.Continue reading
After posting about the curse on Weston-super-Mare, I’ve received many an interesting email. One, from Vivian Gallaher, caught the eye as it listed a number of other legends involving Weston, some previously heard of, while others not.
Using current circumstances, I took the opportunity to investigate them further, asking locals their knowledge of and take on, to again piece together an overview of each, before looking to see what evidence for or against can be found.
First up: did Jesus Christ visit Weston-super-Mare?Continue reading
I thought (assumed) it would be straightforward enough to find a picture of a tree to match the image written of below. No. Not a single image capturing the forthcoming description; the closest being one alone on a horizon looking horribly like the default desktop image for Windows XP.
It was the height of summer and the tree in question stood on a small bushy bank, rising tall and well above the hedge below. Its leaves were so plentiful and lush that not a hint of branch was visible—an aspect integral to the below—despite being able to see sky through the odd gap here and there. The sensible thing would’ve been to take a picture of my own, but in resisting the march of the smart phone, I’ve had to use an photo—lovely, it must be said—that doesn’t match the image conveyed.Continue reading