A pink dainty
Sails by
Like cake on the moon

The skiff on the mere.
It is a very pretty little skiff.
Mere flattery.

The woman who thought she was a glove but who could not quite put her finger on why.

I am looking forward to meeting my new friend, Fagg.
He is an empty vessel at the moment, waiting to be filled in.

While the sun shines we’re determined to continue constructing this temporary New Age village before we’re moved on by the combined forces of decorum and common sense after a little token show of resistance.

Caprice has its place but is rather out of fashion among the intelligentsia these days, and the burning issues
of the day are aflame with themselves so that to be a fireman is the career of choice among university graduates.

When the old man choked on the marshmallow and everyone thought it was a joke,
that was a learning experience for all of us.

The next epoch is almost upon us:
I don the beret, assume the position.

Having run away from life for a while it seems a good idea to do what other chaps do and find a wife. I think
they’re available online at a reasonable cost.

Life is looking up: my agent (estate) has had second thoughts about life,
love, and everything, included in which he’s revalued the house and thinks I can get
more than I deserve, which will make a nice change.