A Crow and a Baby

I have a feeling I have mentioned this tune before? Even so, I use it once more as it has apposite lyrical advantage.

I don't feel much like a crow, even though I talk to them each morning. And I am pretty sure the mother of Sons Number One and Two was never a baby - placenta, maybe, in a hospital mistake to cap most.

Feeling in such a good mood I ventured to my favourite Bedders Town centre public with a friend. Wherein we discovered more friends, all seemingly mates with a guy called Charlie. What a laugh we had, cheering us all into the next week of work.

Oh! I appear to have been missed out again as the chaps came round collecting day-hires. 

Never mind, the benefit gang are gonna pay. As they do, doubtless, in the Slag-Heaps. Which particular venue gave me the impetus for this latest rant.

“Find the fathers of this world
Treat them as a fatal foe
Put them in the deepest hole,
Then cover the pit with snow”

It's wonderful how Essex has taken to the concept of extended family.

What you do is form a relationship, even get married, and then trash said existence almost immediately. It has the advantage of offering free bed and board to all builders needing sustenance beyond their own failed set-up; a simple route to constant sexual activity, and presumably disease; a route into the Benefits Gang; and a channel for outpourings of simulated misery and grief.

And the father has to move across the County Line. Pass the sick-bag!

But hats off to the girls! They certainly don't need fathers around that part of the country as all the boys grow up perfectly adjusted. Ooh! I feel a court case coming on...

...given that I think the latest bike crash is going to give me septicaemia - again - I really don't give a monkey's.

To anyone pondering, it's The Human League. When they were a good band, rivalling the likes of Kraftwerk.

Gute Nacht.