Back to reality now we ride slip. Except… is this reality? Did the housepainter from two doors up really just glance my way askance with the suggestion of a smile? Maybe not. I may have to step out under a false pretence and ever-so casually bump his shoulder to see. Radio in the shop played “You’ve got a good heart, da da da da da, you go your own way, blab la ga ga ga, what you wanted will return to you in timeeeee…” as I selected several fine coffees for the drinking. Shop girl’s manner perfunctory, not ill-mannered, neither too overly-familiar: 4/10.

Rather inwards though outwards altogether simultaneously, simians have been known to creep, to yield a fine crop, and to enjoy a good ole fashioned bop (every now and then.) The wild colonial boys will go a-rompin’ and never was the day so fine. Fine lines drawn at the crack of noontide. Cowboys alook alike aleak, romp on home bai!

A Frenchman fellating. A coarse Polack works your back. Five grown Italians biting at the chomp. Work for the weak. Weaklings be ruined. Medieval ye cursed us, begone now ye ghouls! Climbing trees in your own bare knees for a penny and a poncho. Bare-faced boys who onced upon a time played rugger come onboard for the craic. Soccer fellas flaunt bellies so bare their hair blanched. Cricketeers in full regalia held stout to their beliefs and so were accepted. Pugilists rule the roost inn a roundabout way whilst grimers supply the line. Martial artists of every imaginable variety and mix marshall fields and marshes and meadows and “moooo!”

All in all the craic was had. Twenty nuns a-hoovering. Six priests all in a card-game. Gin rummy, I’ll have a cup indeed. The silent gardener ganders, gulps, and gooses. By and by. None were forgotten, a fine day indeed.