busy, busy, busy, busy. Grrr.
The weekend starts tomorrow, hurrah! I know I've done this weekend hurrah thing before, but fucking hell... I have an image of Robinson Crusoe face down on that south sea beach, washed by the tide, waves lifting his body and setting it down, exhausted. A hard journey has brought him to this place, this paradise. Suddenly there's beer in his hand, invigorated he spits into the receding surf. Forever reborn on the Isle of Weekends he looks around, hmm, excellent, and is that music and dancing?
One final glance catches the wreckage of So That Was Last Week Then! slipping into history's briny depths. And Robinson? He's already at the bar, chatting.
4 comments:
AND there must be no blaaaasted mosquitoes!!!
or drunken englishmen...
Does 'no drunken Englishmen' rule out Dan? Or he's not English? How about drunk men who are not English?
And no mad dogs, or even Mad Dan's, out in the midday sun.
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