sunday, it's grim 'oop north, the match is off, i flick radio derby on to get the skinny, the pitch is ok, [under-turf heating], but the police have decided to call off the match because of the amount of snow and ice outside the stadium, [imagine 33,000 people walking over that and compressing it into a lethal ice rink] anyway, we are snowbound in the village, the only thing moving is on two or four legs, lazy breakfast and off we go, the dog's are up to their armpit's, [do dog's have armpit's? they've got a leg on all four corner's so i suppose not then...] bloody hell, this is hard work, the snow is powder perfect, we stop to watch a kid carving it up on a snowboard, superstyling, the dog's trying to chase him down the hill, as i tab on up the hills i'm breathing through my arse, all the time i'm thinking, i really don't know where these thought's come from but i can't get the captain beefheart track 'steal softly thru snow' out of my brain, as soon as i get back, kettle on, towel the boy's down and dig out my copy of troutmask replica...............
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