Sometimes There Is No Next Time, No

Reading Is Untidy, Discursive And Perpetually Inviting.

Here I Sit, Alone At 60, Bald And Fat And Full Of Sin Cold The Seat, And Loud The Cistern As I Read The (harpic) (lysol) Tin

Life Is Rather Like A Tin Of Sardines - We're All Of Us Looking For The Key.

It's The One Species I Wouldn't Mind Seeing Vanish From The Face Of The Earth. I Wish They Were Like The White Rhinosix Of Them Left In The Serengeti National Park, And All Males.

Nature Played A Cruel Trick On Her By Giving Her A Waxed Mustache.