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Any last words?

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It’s barely 7am in the summer holidays and I’ve been up for over half an hour already. 

I woke up feeling like I was having a coronary, or suffering from some kind of engorged tumor or something.  A case of chronic hypochondria on a Monday morning!  I’d also had a dream where I was cornered by a gang of Kalashnikov-wielding Romanians as I slept on the street outside the Odeon at Thornbury roundabout(?!)  (Not good Kalashnikovs either, like the glass ones in the Russian Tea Rooms at Skipton that are full of vodka).

If I’m honest, I’m slightly troubled by the fact that at the point where I thought I was to be put out of misery like a lame horse, by the leader of the gang,  my last thoughts were; I can’t think of anything to say”  Nothing about my kids, my family, Bman, my friends – just a vacant space where my brain used to be.

Perhaps it was out, having a bleach bath.

The sea air and salty waters beckon anyway and in a couple of hours I’ll be on my way to the Boro. 

BTW, In case anyone is thinking of burgling the house while I’m away, I wouldn’t bother.  Bman will be here and anyway, we have nothing worth stealing.

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About TheDHW

Not loathed by totally everyone so that's good right?

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