Written on route to my last Internet date

Right on my way, late, to meet my Internet ‘date’. This might be the last ever if it doesn’t work out. I’ve joined those website from loneliness, not necessarily to met the kind of girls it has linked me with over the years. What is the point if you I don’t have anything in common.

And I’m getting too saggy to care.

Some girls, on the late X98, discovering hen party cheeriness. I stand and fire straight between their eyes.

Joining us are the Hindi/Urdu tribe who climb aboard at nPower(where once I worked oblivious of the world beyond Leeds).

I really can’t stand England anymore. It’s become ruined and empty. Even the Victorian gatehouse at Roundhay park is a mere façade as I piss into the brambles.

The new hybrid bus creaks and shakes. It’s been on the road a month and I can’t stand the reek of burning plastic from somewhere. How big are the batteries and how bad is all plastic for the environment. Not a logical improvement. Just another gimmick. And it’s paid for by the government subsidy, not private enterprise.

Wetherby has joined the ranks of the crap towns. With its brigade of costa’s, M&co., hundreds of opticians, thousands of hairdressers and millions of charity shops. Bomb the town and the turgid masses. Bang, Bang.


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