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ere it is rendered obsolete by the false cheer of our third and fourth tankards and Darren Grimes is there with that fen-sucked Starkey, haplessly nodding to the emptinesses of his racism and The Johnson with his Ferrari discourses how he doesn’t do gestures
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besides zip-wiring, kipper smoking, mopping and bulldozing through walls, and that his unique brand of nonentity-politics sees him hold the electorate in a mighty contempt of morte, the more he scorns the more they fawn and I believe his relationship with them is as mine with
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women, as I once discoursed to Lady Lusardi at line dancing: any woman willing to show me sentiments of love, is not the sort of woman I wish to make sentiments of love with. So much mirth and fighting and sticky floors, the boy Grimes duller I think even than the boy Bridgen
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, staid while our dinner, a couple of chickens dressed with a good mess of cream via the table service app, and after we to a pretty little wood for a rave with Every1sound System, but among the hazel trees and bushes what a course did we run, losing ourselves from
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thicket to thicket, all spinning after 15 cans of Stella and I despaired I should ever come to any path, and Grimes did lay upon the ground and cry that he couldn’t go on and I spake that in the TA we always left a fallen man and so abandoned him
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and at last we found a delicate walk where all the men that couldn’t make it to Bournemouth were at turd, and here Des Swayne stopping to do a couple of keys and a bit of noz with some kids, and Lord! to see how many I met there of citizens not simple enough to be refused
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a Brextoration but too simple to keep social distance and use a chodbin, and we went out of the wood being all bewildered and weary and sweating and beyond Epping Forest a mile little Trident fell a-running and endeavoured to come back but the poor thing mistakes our scent
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for the sewage at Leyton Marsh and hunts us backward and Swayne and I after him all the way to Clapton, and there we lost any further information of him and Des spraining his ankle we ended up in Homerton A & E singing ‘Swayne’s World’ at the nursing staff and Cleverly with
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his head in a bandage and glasses broke is there, casually mentioning his experiences of utter blokeishness in the army and many hours later we are discharged mighty sore headed, and supped some more and after an under-microwaved fishfinger, at 4pm, to bed.
And so many thanks to @sophieplowden for discovering this timeless image on her etchasketch.
