Saturday nights aren’t the same once you’re married, where once there was the expectancy of a possible score, now there’s only the the thought that i might catch The Cube on poverty channel Three. Party plans are placed in the memory box found on the shelf in the spare room, and instead of anticpated hedonism i find feet rubbing to be the only game in town. Sundays though are a horse of a different colour. Waking early, with a love to my left, a hug is hugged and a “Good morning” is traded between two ones miraculously matched.
“Whatcha wanna do today?” is graciously asked and the answer returned is;
“Eye dunno? yew tell me”
“Sure weel walk the dogs first and see what takes our fancy”
“Okey dokes, eyel shower then”
“Are you washing your hair?”
“Well, will yah leave some hot water?”
And either or get up and wake the two bitch faces asleep in their shed.
. . . and once at the top the thought i think sums it up;
“You’ve got the sun, you’ve got the moon and you’ve got the Rolling Stones”.