Death Of The Middle Class

He didn’t know his place!

Listening to Dear Catastrophe Waitress by Belle And Sebastian.

New blog roll entry today – read it – it won’t be easy but it will make you think.

I dreamed of going to the moon last night. We got there by various slingshot devices that would swing round and catch our capsule, each one sending it higher above the Earth until it came in to land in the dust. We stood there in a cubical capsule made rather like the tank in which Damien Hirst’s shark is decomposing. The door was open and yet we had no breathing equipment. I found some stamps on the floor, which we all thought rather valuable though using them to post letters home as we did probably would not have worked given the lack of post-office staff. Not sure how I got home but I did.

Big day for Poets everywhere – hopefully bigger than usual.

Further nature notes from next door to Bolton’s Training Ground.

It is getting like The Birds here in the mornings; every available car park light is occupied by big black crows, cawing and squabbling. Not sure why our car park is the avian night-club of choice for this area.