For still, the more he works, the more

Do his weak ankles swell.

Never liked Wordsworth, although he's decent in imagery and appropriate quotes. No poetry homework tonight, he is too boring.

HOWEVER, he has a moot point. I am laid up with a work-related injury, a swollen ankle, to boot! And, no, unfortunately no chance of ambulance-chasing compensation or insurance. The last wife was swiftly on the button! But failed in an attempt to lotterise her fortunes!! My fortune, meanwhile, is bad. No ankle no boot. No boot, no work. No work, Cameron and Clegg combine to ensure the REBIRTH OF THATCHER. Hope all you voters are proud of what you have done.

People with ankle injuries cannot vote, so I have nothing to be sorry about.

But, I guess on that abbreviated note (semi-quaverish, Size?) I should leave you with the opening bars. There ain't no work in the heart of the City. (It should be 'love', not 'work', but test out the song through the Blaxploitation series.) Donny Hathaway, I think, but my memory is as weak as my ankles.

More soon from the workplace.

Night, Florence!!