The Devil Has Stamped On Your Blackberries

Current mood: Autumnal (again)

Hail the return of the large blue butterfly, the nights are drawing in, the ritual retuning of the clocks is close at hand. Columnists across the land are bemoaning the return of instant Smash mash to our bellies. The senile are stomping their way through the rain-filled potholes on the street, blaming the weather on those evil Polish immigrants who have come to weigh down our beloved country, tilting it to face the coming storms head on. Once domesticated beasts are running wild, foaming at the mouth, waiting to pounce. Our great leaders are huddled together for warmth, recriminations flying through the air, as they sit, stranded miles from home, around a small camping stove in the wilds of Manchester, weeping into their soiled manifestos.
A Merry Michaelmas to one and all.


Currently listening: Gang of Losers by The Dears