I wanted to write something about the poisonous blue of Thatcherism. But went off completely somewhere else and consoled myself that she didn't own the colour.
There is always rain, On days like these. If you listen closely, You may hear its melody. A private symphony of tears. The inspiration behind such a...
Out of the blue, one Indian summer you finally came. The waving, windmilling Captain of your destiny we said. Stubby legs would beat a heave-ho hard...
I thought I had posted this on here before, apparently not... Image source is wikimedia commons: attribution By Henry Bowers (1883–1912) Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17226333
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