We're taking a bit of a breather while the world rearranges its underpants. Meanwhile, the other blog is here.

Monday, July 05, 2010

The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

A vision of loveliness assails me on the way into work. Passing through the bus station I managed to avoid any eye contact with the elderly chap in the black blazer, black Homberg and white plimsolls.

And no trousers.

6 comments:

Happy Frog and I said...

I wonder if his name was Donald?

Pat said...

Perhaps he's been on the beer the night before.
My first husband, the night after the sort of dinner party we had in the sixties - buckets of alc - found himself on the train to London suited and booted, shirt and tie but no collar - he wore the stiff starched ones as a rule

Madame DeFarge said...

Was he a vicar?

Kevin Musgrove said...

Happy Frog and you: I thought you were supposed to be only young. Your cultural references betray you. (-;

Pat: no hat? The bounder!

Madame DeF: no, he didn't have the shins for it.

nursemyra said...

Uh oh... another of my escapees

Kevin Musgrove said...

nursemyra: the whole bloody borough is one of your escapees...