Grouchy old bags, speak out about, a ‘locked down if you’re a weeny bit wonky’ – bank holiday again! What for?

The much ignored who live alone are on the very barest bones – a holiday from what? (From fearing the grim reaper may kill all those you used to know – or you – just before you’re able to go out: but still, stay home and meditate on flowers!)

I’ve got the knack of that.

I’ve spent enumerous hours watching tulips die -crying blood from shot red eyes.

Can we have a party soon –
that’s not on fucking zoom?

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