The rift between two varieties in the section of the field of potatoes called Intheair (the r is hardly pronounced) is widening. Violence flares up in the blink of an eye.
Strains of, we didn't start the fire, it was always burning, waft through the air.
The treads of the Rath's wheels, have not attempted to douse the fire, if not anything else.
1 comment:
... good blog, Mr B. vhere are photos of the pride (s) and joy (s) of your life? Pls post!
cheers
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