Tits Up (Fun and Fantasy, #14)
Description
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Quiet self time is liquid gold time, it is so very precious.
No quiet time, and noise prevails inside the human, and that's the invite to madness, and in many cases, the doorway to the world of therapy. It's not enough for sleep to be the only escape from an increasingly insane world.
Silence is golden.
Silence is our true nature.
To 'chill' (the modern word for meditate, or ponder), some people like to watch tropical fish (nothing against solitary ambitious goldfish).
Some like to drive to a country car park away from the hustle and bustle, eat their sandwiches, not talk, stare at a field, then go homeand think about what to have for tea (it's called marriage). Some like to sit in, or stroll through a wood, hopefully an empty one. For others it's the middle of a field. Just somewhere where they can be with nature. Nature is exquisite.
Some may be handed a back garden, in a quiet area, where, with a little work, they can create a beautiful 'chill' Nirvana. Somewhere lovely, to go and lose themselves, as in my case. I was lucky though, because as there were small sections of wooded area, I would be surrounded by glorious tits.
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Person
I am the one being shaved; the other one Nim, is is a looney bin now!
I went to see a psychic years ago who ended up as my girlfriend; she didn't see that one coming! But she was extremely honoured. However it ended badly i.e. it rained heavily as I buried her body and I got soaked. No! You don't really want to hear about it, it's depressing; I was joking about the burial. She told me that I was to uncover a talent I had ... Well, another psychic told me that as the first one was dead; I was lying when I said I was lying. Nothing happened for quite a while. Suddenly I realised I needed a 'job' quite badly as I was beginning to drink halves. No, not a boob 'job'! I went for the cheap option i.e. the surgeon gave some socks to shove up my jumper when I go out. I got a 'job' (have you got boobs on your mind?) because someone told me that bus-driving was easy because you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel. She was about six, a wise woman ... that's called an oxymoron. Fantastic! I thought get the job and in a couple of days I'd be driving all the nice passengers around and about seeing all the sights for a fraction of the cost of a tour bus; and we'd have a roof in case it rained. Easy! First of all though there was the training; and I entered hell.
I was born in Cumbria in a little ex-iron ore mining town called Millom. It was only small, a one- horse town; the horse was called Peg. It had a pedigree name too, but I can't remember it at the moment: Peggy Suss? However, I got fed up and left as I was the only man in a town full of women and they were all lesbys; I've always been lucky. I went to Blackpool and attended the photographic college. I then moved to Coventry and met the psychic who would tell me what was going to happen. I could say now that the rest is history. Well it is, but obviously not history as that's all made up anyway. Then I got the job bus-driving, which as I said is easy 'you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel'. The bus station management weren't pleased that she had said that though, so she was tried and sent to Guantanamo Bay; they have a section for young kids who are bad to the bone.
The job was so mad that I thought it would be a good idea to write out some posters and stick them all on the wall of the bus station. The other drivers enjoyed them, but the management tore them down, the badstars (that's an anagram of astards +B). I carried on and ended up with a manuscript for a book, which, by ...
