sporty

blimey, it's thursday night, i've spent the week listening to the ram's getting a last minute equaliser away at barnsley on a tuesday night to salvage a much needed point to stave off the relegation worries, listening to mr's thatcher's funeral on five-live, i stick by my previous thought's, i still think she should have had a private, family funeral and not all the pomp and ceremony that accompanied the procession through london town and don't get me started about the cost to the tax payer, i look at in football term's, [i'm a simple derbyshire youth me], one-nil to maggie, oh yeah, done a bit on the sportster too, finally rounded up sparky paul and managed to nail him down, basically, the wiring on my bike is shit and need's a new loom, paul's measured up and is on with it as i post, ['eye of newt, large donner, chilli sauce, no fucking salad 'yer bastard, do i look like a vegetarian?] i leave him to it, it's all smoke and mirror's to me, can't get my head around all that electrickery stuff, i just shake, shake, shake it like a polaroid picture, [the rattle can that is] and spray my bates black, i'm on a mission now, the bike is just disappearing before my very eye's, no shouting, no 'look at me! i'm here' just more stealthy than a very stealthy stealth thing..........