still fighting it.

 life. it's a fight ain't it, every morning when that alarm chimes in at 0500hrs, every weekday and most saturdays, it's that ringtone of dread, sometimes i don't even know how i get up. wash. clean my teeth. get a brew and let the dogs out, drive to work for a shift, been doing this for forty-one years now, fifteen when i left school and started my apprenticeship, forty-one years of fucking hard collar, manual labour, mauling pipes and fittings, climbing ladders and scaffold, breathing asbestos fibre through a martindale mask, might as well breathe through an old sock for the protection it provides. bad cut's, sprains, stitches, wet through to the bone, freezing fucking cold on building sites the length and breadth of this sceptered isle, the worst of times and the best of times, laughing until i can't breathe, nailed to a shed door through my heavy welders overall's, fist fights and a weeks wages lost on a game of cards, toasting sandwiches on an upturned gas heater, boiling egg's in the canteen tea-urn, piss-takes and heartbreaks, lost mates and alcohol shakes,  these day's? well. i'm still living for the weekend, when saturday comes, it's football, 90 minutes to lose yourself, week nights it's working on the bike, [bikes]. loads done this week, brakes bled, lockwiring sorted, [love lockwiring stuff, very therapeutic], new, blingy, gold renthal chain fitted and new h.t. leads and caps sorted, yeah, i'm still fighting it......