Did I mention that the US Airforce has an airfield base in Newquay? No? Well, they do and they have lots of jets and missiles and radar, hence the treacle. I normally like to land right at the end of their longest runway, out of sight and sound, especially at the moment. Listening to the vibes I am getting from my sources, the Yanks are ready to start shooting at anyone and, judging by past history, that includes themselves. When they are riled up like this I find the best way to deal with them is to duck and cover quite close to whatever object they are at that time attempting to destroy. Give it a moment or two and they will have blown so much dust to shit that they won’t be able to see the target and, confident in the lethal combination of their technology and talent, will move onto the next labeled threat. Anyway, that’s not a rant, fair play to them and all that. In this business morality is for the underachiever. So, having clipped one of the radar masts on the control tower with my undercarriage, I managed to avoid the stinger missile fired at me by throwing out three tins of Kalamares, which confused the homing device. If that’s not food for thought Saddam, I don’t know what is. Having landed and hidden my Stealth Cessna, I drove home and made squid pasta. I have another old friend coming tomorrow to visit. She ‘s wonderful and she will be as alluring to me everyday for the rest of her days as she is now.
It’s been an age since I’ve left any detritus on these pages. In the face of mySpace, then Facebook and now Twitter with a background of belated maturity, engagement, house purchase, proper job, this tired old blog has been left to fester. I do miss it though. Perhaps I can provide additions every now and then? But what to write and when? Busy at work, the kitchen is still far from complete, the sun is very much out and, oh yeah, I forgot, I don’t BLOG!!! Ha AH!! Almost got me there. Bloody social networking. Bollocks. That is all. Long Live Hunter S Thompson!!!!