The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
(In a Station of the Metro - by Ezra Pound)
* mumble, grumble, crumble*
Alas, it all came to nowt as Prodigal 2 announced that he needed to get to the job centre to sign on toot sweet, or we wouldn't be able to get rent out of him this week. Just not my day. Too dozy now to carry on, so I am taking my Kindle to bed to listen to David Suchet reading Tom Sharpe's Blott on the Landscape. Very early night of rme, but night all :-)