Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
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Monday, 21 November 2016
A divorcees prayer
You will hate me when this is over But not as much as I will hate you Yet I will hate you with affection While you will hate me with spite Because you really hate yourself For once loving me Any chance of a shag?
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