Now it turns out the joke’s on me, ‘coz a tapir’s top speed is 30 miles per hour, and for that, I’d have to be dropped out of a plane. I might hit it on the bike for a few seconds, going downhill. But whatever. At this stage, the poor joke is already dead (see: … More Taper? Tapir, more like…
“Hot town, summer in the cityBack of my neck gettin’ dirty and grittyBeen down, isn’t it a pity?Doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city” Summer in the CityThe Lovin’ Spoonful The city turns its back on its canals. I suppose Venice is an exception to this rule, or indeed, other towns where the … More Summer in the city
I have the wipers on intermittent, but the truth is, it’s lashing. I’m in denial. We pull into the grassy field to park up the car, but not before we both note, simultaneously, that the area is called Gallows Hill. I suppose, given the state of the weather, humour is going to be the best … More An accidental triathlete
unironedman 